Touch of Madness
by PassionsInsanity
Summary: No. 3. The team travels to Salt Lake City to assist the local authorities in finding a young boy. OFC Abby Scott is left at the HQ with Garcia and have to work together to find the missing boy while trying to put the man responsible behind bars.
1. Never, never forget it

_"No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness."_  
Aristotle

---

_"Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who do, will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, will never, never forget it."_

Curtis Judalet

---

07.01

Boisterously grunting, Abby turned around in her bed, her hand reaching out to alarm on her nightstand. Her hand groped in empty air, the sheets wrapped around her waist like a corset. For a second, she found steadiness. Then, the pressure under her body disappeared and she tumbled down.

With a loud and wakening thud, Abby fell out of bed and hit the floor. She groaned in pain as her still slightly sore shoulder was pushed against the hardwood floor. For a few moments, she rested her head on the cold wood beneath her, her warm breath creating moist circles on the floor. The sound of nails scratching on wood made her eyes pop open and she was greeted by the sight of Bird standing before her, his mouth open, tongue out, and he barked shortly.

"Morning Birdie. How'd you sleep?"

The dog sat down and anticipating eyes locked on the image that struggled to stand up. Abby moved her left arm in the air, feeling how her shoulder was doing. It had been six days since Luke Padov sent her flying through the air. For five days, she had been stuck at the Headquarters, assisting Garcia as she worked her magic fingers on her many computers. For five days, she hadn't done much else besides going for a smoke, get a cup of coffee, listen to Garcia and Morgan flirt bluntly and openly, smoke some more, drink some more coffee and be annoyed by all the many, many different merry colours in Garcia's office. For as far as you could call it an office.

Abby put her deep dark brown hair in a ponytail and headed towards the kitchen. Absentminded, she made herself some coffee, lit a fag and opened the claret curtains. Slowly and silently sipping on her coffee and smoking her cigarette, Abby watched Quantico Creek shimmer before her in the fresh light of dawn. For over a month, Abby had stayed at the Crossroads Inn in Quantico. Though she had liked living easy and expandable as in a motel room, she found a small house in Dumfries, Candice road, three days ago, about ten minutes away from the FBI Headquarters.

It was at the end of the road and she overlooked Quantico Creek. On a clear day, she could spot the harbour on the other side of the creek. There was a small piece of land surrounding the house, most of it covered by tall trees, a forest to the north. There was enough distance between her and her neighbours for Abby to feel comfortably. She hated it when her neighbours lived too close; it reminded her of her youth. As a five year old, her older brother was often caught watching their neighbour's have sex. No physical fights ever occurred, but there were many verbal fights and shouts, door being slammed and glasses broken.

The brunette opened the door that lead to the patio to let Bird out, and the German shepherd wiggled his tail as he passed Abby by. She heard the birds in the early morning and decided it was a good morning, a good day. The morning air swiftly and smoothly entered her house and met the warmer atmosphere in the house. For a couple of minutes, Abby watched Bird wander around in her backyard, often glanced over the creek whilst she sipped on her coffee. As she turned around and got ready to jog, she left the backdoor open for Bird to walk in and out.

She had decided today was a good day for a jog in the woods near the house. Bird tagged along and the two of them ran around the woods for over half an hour, before returning home. There was something utterly peaceful and intrinsically about jogging to Abby. It didn't tire her, she gained energy from it. She loved it when the air was cold and sharp, the frigid touch on her body had a magic that she couldn't describe. In the summer, she sought out the woods and covered plains where the air was usually colder and less saturated. The silence that encircled her comforting and the soft noise of her shoes stepping down on the ground were like a lullaby.

She might actually start to like it here. Abby looked over her shoulder before disappearing into the house. Her nose still caressed the smell of the forest, her senses still spoiled. She could get used to this. She might like it here.

---

08.40

"Morning."

"Morning genius."

Reid leant back in his chair as Abby walked passed him. Smilingly, she extended the hand that held the cup of coffee. Smiling shyly, Reid gladly accepted the caffeine. She dumped her backpack on her desk and sat down, rubbing some hair that came loose out of her face.

"How's your shoulder."

"Much better. I even jogged this morning. Might be cleared by my doc soon so I can step back into all the action I've been missing."

Reid grinned, he knew best how agitated Abby had been for the past days.

"There's plenty of action left Frankie."

"It better."

"Morning."

Derek walked into the office, putting down his bag next to his desk and he took off his jacket.

"Looking sharp today, Morgan."

He sent her his mischievous smile and winked.

"Court keeps starting earlier and earlier. It's almost fascinating."

The young doctor opened his mouth to speak, but Abby sent him a silencing glare. It was too early for facts.

"How's the face?"

"Just fine."

During their last case, Morgan tripped over boxes filled with pictures, drawings and writings of their UnSub. He had landed on the edge of a flight of stairs, his weight too far over the edge and tumbled down. The event had caused Prentiss to break into a fit of laughter as she helped him up, shooing away the birds that scared ("They attacked me!") Morgan in the first place. A nice, blue bruise and still swollen cheekbone was the result. It looked good to him and several women of the B.A.U. team stated that it was a pity bruise started to fade and the swollen skin returned to its normal state. The jokes, however, the jokes remained. Abby had desperately wanted to be in Arizona, the case was more than interesting and Abby would have loved to be an active part of that, but after hearing about Morgan and his attempt to be though and brave she would have given almost anything to have been there.

Paul the Postman walked past their desks, smiling friendly and greeting the three FBI agents. As per usual, a far amount of mail was deployed on Reid's desk. The young genius immediately put down his coffee and greedily opened his mail. Morgan thanked Paul as he received his mail, eyeing excited at the letter. Abby still didn't get much mail. She got the usual correspondence of professor Langley in London and a few letters every now and then of university's she had held or was invited to hold readings, classes and lectures.

But today was Thursday. That meant no mail. Yet the short, charming looking man walked past her desk and handed her a white envelope. Surprised, she put down her coffee and started to open the mail. As soon as she laid her eyes on the content, her hearing shut down, muting all sounds around her. Prentiss entered with Rossi, both of them greeted as always. Prentiss started talking about her presumed failed date after Morgan pressed on about the matter, Reid was still reading his mail, furiously opening one letter after the other, his eyes absorbing the words in a rapid pace.

The little colour in her face drained away, sharp and piercing nails scratched her skin, leaving red and bloody stripes. She froze. Abby was unable to move as her mind imprinted the image in her brain despite her best efforts not to. She tried to put the content back in the cursed white envelope, erase the memory and pretend nothing had happened. A hammer hit down on her head, its force causing her to come back to earth. She heard Hotch descend the stairs and he approached the group. Hastily, she put the file back in the envelope. A little vehement, Abby put the white paper container in her lower desk drawer and locked it – the one drawer she locked. She caught a glare from Morgan, but looked past it. If she ignored it, so would Morgan.

"Morning."

Rossi tilted his head shortly, as he always did when he greeted the team leader. The rest of the fascinating group of people fell in line and greeted the extravagant man. Except for Abby, whom seemed to have lost the ability to speak. So instead, she turned in her chair, a couple of fingers slightly against her lips and she smiled meekly at the senior man.

"Let's go."

Without any other word, Hotch turned and headed towards the conference room. Morgan sighed as he stood up and drew the attention of a still occupied Reid by tapping him once on the back. Prentiss and Rossi quickly grabbed a cup of coffee, before following Reid and Abby, whom were only a few steps behind Morgan.

JJ awaited them in the room, already prepped for action. Whatever it was, Hotch and JJ seemed to be in a hurry. Feeling the air, heavy and thick with tension, Abby sat down next to Reid and remained silent.

"Sorry for starting the morning so abruptly."

JJ was shortly interrupted by Garcia, who entered the room, holding a block note and pen. She excused herself and sat down next to Morgan, shortly glancing at him as if asking what it was all about.

"Salt Lake City just called. They got a man for murdering seven young boys, he confessed an hour ago. They need us."

"For what?"

Rossi looked at Hotch, the tension in his face visible as he made an estimated guess.

"Finding six of them."

"My God."

Abby shortly glanced at Reid before resting her eyes on the computer screen.

"PD arrested this man-"

A picture popped up on the computer screen of an elder man, mid forties, short beard, dark eyes.

"Arnold Donalds. He confessed to murdering seven boys. They found Calvin Garret, age seven."

Another pictures appeared on the screen of a young blond boy. His cheeks still chubby, face round and angelic. He was seven, but looked around five years old.

"The six others are still missing. Good news, Harry Bones has only been missing for ten hours. His parents wanted to report him missing after he didn't come home from school. An officer off duty was two steps away from the door, it was pure luck that he overheard the conversation seeing he handle the Garret's case."

"All boys, young. Between six and eight."

Six other pictures loomed up on the computer screen.

"Calvin Garret's autopsy revealed that the boy had been choked to death. They found his body a week after he disappeared. He had been dead for three days."

Prentiss immediately looked up at JJ.

"That means Harry Bones might still be alive."

"Donalds won't talk about Bones. Salt Lake City PD is convinced he's still alive. We have to find this boy and try to recover the other five bodies."

JJ glanced around the room, staring at the six agents before her. Her words had been penetrating and adamant. As a mother, she must feel the horror creeping up against her back when imagining it to be her son.

"Scott, you stay here, help Garcia out."

"Got it boss. Good luck."

Hotch and the rest of the team had arisen from their seats and headed towards the exit. Abby stood up as well, but lingered at the table. Now more than ever she wished she was cleared for duty. Dead bodies were something horrendous, something terrifying. A life taken too early by the hands of a man or woman that wasn't allowed to take. But when the bodies were smaller, shorter, younger, it only got more worse. Abby could feel the night train, its darkness in the mist fierce and vibrating, ready for action. Compelling and disconsolating as it were, as dark and evil, the train knew that now was the time, more than ever, to get Abby to her destination. It had to cut faster through the shadows and the doubts had to be left behind in the distance even quicker. Then again, there was the mail, the envelope, the content. Abby felt his cold breath in her neck, the hair raising till a point where it almost hurt, like little pins rapidly jabbing into her skin. His phantom frigid hand slowly and smoothly sliding over hers, his touch sending peril shivers down her body. She felt herself become lethargic as the cesspool of darkness beneath her started to drag her down.

"Scott, you start working on a preliminary profile. You have access to all the evidence, let us know what you come up with."

"Copy."

Abby nodded shortly, recalling the words that had been spoken while she slowly drifted away. She ran the conversation through her mind, thankful that somehow, she did pay attention. Last thing she wanted was Hotch breathing down her neck, also.

---

10.00

Abby slowly walked towards Garcia's cupboard. It wasn't really a cupboard, but Abby liked to call it that. When she first pronounced the words, Garcia was furious at her. It took her two hours and five cups of coffee to cool down the funky computer tech. But despite her exterior and her workplace, Abby had to admit that Garcia was one hell of a technical analyst. The things she could find out on a computer frightened the dark haired agent, if only slightly.

The more time she spent with Garcia, the more Abby started to envy her. She had been surrounded by darkness her entire life, partly because of her morbid thoughts, ability to peek into other minds and her 'gift', but her childhood hadn't exactly been colourful either. Garcia, coming from hippies, did her best to make her world as colourfull and as bright as she could, no matter what she saw on those screens. She protected her world, looked away when needed, shut her ears when needed, all to protect that what she had; a colourful world. Abby wasn't sure whether that was the reason why she envied Penelope Garcia that much, or the fact that even though she looked away and shut her ears, she didn't ignore it and she didn't stop feeling. Garcia had explained that she couldn't sit around and watch the whole world go down into misery and grey and rainy clouds, she needed to do something. That could be another reason why she was so fascinated by this woman; she knew where she stood, what she believed in and what she wanted. You could say that she knew why she was here, what she was doing.

Abby didn't. She wasn't even sure why she joined the bureau in the first place. Not that she regretted her decision, not at all. She had loved every single day working as an agent and making a difference. Without it, she wouldn't know what to do because she didn't know anything else. Deep down, Abby found it worrying that she still didn't know why, yet she choose this profession. She had known about her ability to crawl through the dirt of other people's minds at a young age, always being strangely captivated by other people and their behaviour and reasons. Was that the reason? Because her soul and her thoughts were as dark and bloodstained as the one of a killer?

With her elbow, Abby opened the door of Garcia's office and entered, kicking it closed again. She put the two cups of coffee on the designated area of the table and stirred. Garcia barely looked up anymore, she had gotten used to the young female quite quickly.

"I brought you coffee."

"Thanks doll."

"So, what are we doing?"

Garcia stopped staring at the computer screens and turned her chair to meet Abby's face.

"I'm running a background check on Arnold Donalds. He's got an impressive record. Several drunk and disorderly's, he stole a car two years back, drunk driving, three assaults. Total, he did nine months of jail-time."

"Nine months?"

"Yeah."

"Unbelievable."

"Honey, you read my mind. But get this, when he was a teenager he was admitted to Utah State Hospital. It's a mental health hospital."

"For what?"

"Don't know, his record it sealed."

"Well, unseal it."

"On it."

"Anything I can do?"

"Other than your thing?"

Garcia turned in her chair to look at Abby, letting the keyboard rest for a short period of time.

"Evidence just arrived."

"Good. While you're at it, could you find everything on the parents of the victims?"

"Looking for a connection?"

"Yeah."

"I gave it a shot, nothing so far."

"With all due respect, your computers can't always find it."

"If I want, I can connect all your ancestors to famous dead people."

Abby snorted as she opened the boxes, studying the contents. On the large whiteboard, she made different sections, one for each boy. Slowly, she started to build a structured spider web.

"Ever heard about the Wilkinson case?"

"Wasn't that the chainsaw massacre guy?"

"Ya. He murdered eleven people before he was caught. All in the same neighbourhood. PD couldn't find a single connection after they chased one of the neighbours. Turned out, the neighbourhood was pretty popular for the local pizza place. In the past four months, all victims had ordered a pizza and got the same delivery boy at their doors. Now, pizza's are paid in cash, computers couldn't find a thing. One detective, however, did, when he heard a colleague talk about that great pizza he ordered. He remember seeing pizza boxes at two of the crime scenes. When he paid a visit to the pizza hut, everything fell together. The point of this story?"

"Never trust the pizza guy?"

"Never rely on computers."

"Do you want me to tell you all those stories about cases that were solved with the help of a computer?"

Abby grinned and muttered back a reply. Her smile faltered when she put up the picture of Jeremy Larkin, the first to have been abducted. She couldn't help but to think what he looked like now, his flesh rotten away, eyes shrunk and sunk back in their eye sockets, muscles turned into jelly, his once pretty face gone, stuck in a coffin in a hole in the earth.

---

10.11

"You think they're aboard the plane already?"

Abby leant back in her chair, her feet popped up on the corner of a table. Garcia was gathering all the information she could on the parents and Arnold Donalds while talking to Abby.

"I don't know. But I don't think they have during the minute and a half that passed by since you asked last."

"Am I bugging you?"

"Are you kidding me?"

Garcia turned around and grinned.

"That accent of yours could never ever bug me. It's almost enchanting."

"Enchanting?"

"Yeah."

Abby pouted for a second before she put her legs down and stood up. She swiftly walked towards the whiteboard, looking at the red, green and blue lines that crossed each other as they held theories together. Seven boys within six months. That was a lot. The first boy was named Kyle Davis, six years old. His abduction was messy, but the police could find no leads. After Kyle came Lex Thomas. He was six also. Then Mark Smith and Felix Anderson, both seven. Number five was Andy Jones, eight. After Andy, Calvin Garret was abducted but found. Harry Bones was abducted sixteen hours ago. Salt Lake City Police Department found Calvin Garret's body near the Great Salt Lake. They searched the area for more bodies but found none. Calvin Garret had been sexually abused, abused physically and starved before a pillow was placed on his face and he died.

Arnold Donalds was pulled over for a broken taillight when a police officer noticed where he came from; the Great Salt Lake. What could a person do there at three in the morning? When questioned, Arnold remained quiet and he was brought to the station. After four hours, he confessed that he killed the seven young boys. He laughed when he told the astounded detective Greg York, yelling that they would never find the boy. He hadn't spoken about the boys after he made a call to his lawyer.

"How do you do that?"

Abby hadn't felt Garcia's eyes watching her and burning against the back of her neck. She turned forty degrees, the black marker still in her head, her eyes still on the pictures.

"Do what?"

"Look at pictures like that? What? Like, feel it?"

"I dunno, it's my job."

"You're really good at your job."

"Thank you. I guess."

"Don't you ever-."

Garcia paused. She put down her headset and turned her chair to completely face Abby. The usual sparkle in her eyes seemed dimmed and Abby could feel her hesitation to talk about the subject. She put down the marker and sat on the chair. As she handed Garcia her coffee, she started to speak.

"I've been doing this kind of work for a long, long time. I've seen a lot with SCU, things that I sure as hell thought were supposed to scare me senseless. But it didn't. When you have a job like this, you somehow learn to shut it down. Perhaps even ignore. I know for one, that I rarely look at the victims as persons, because they aren't anymore. They are the clues that will lead me to the man or woman that killed them and it's my duty, not as an agent, but as a human being, to follow those clues and reach the finish line."

"Wow. You really believe that?"

"Yeah. I do, Garcia. I do. Look, I know that you see things differently, you should. We're not alike. I'm as much as a monster as any other person. I just don't hide it. I use it."

"But how do you shut it out? And why?"

Abby sighed, took a sip from her cold coffee and stared at the board.

"I'm not going to tell you how. I think that you should remain the person that you are, continue to sparkle."

She rolled her eyes at the last words and heard Garcia snort.

"Besides, I don't think I even know myself. And the why. The moment I look at those people and see them as human being, feel what they must have felt, feel what their families are going through, I can't see straight."

"You have to catch the killer, you have to reach the finish line."

Abby smiled and nodded, thinking that Garcia understood.

"You sound like a robot Frankie. Don't forget, you're a human being yourself."

It were simple words. But the effects were catastrophic. It hit her square in the face, her cheeks stinging, her nose bleeding, stars dancing before her face.

Garcia sent her a nod and meaningful look when the phone rang. Caller display said 'Morgan' and Garcia got ready to answer. For the second time in a short period, Abby found herself dazzled and fazed and confound.

What if it all were so easy?

---

_"I am just a watcher, I am not anger. Anger is there and I am watching it."_

Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh


	2. Truth in masquerade

_"And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in masquerade."_

Friedrich Nietzsche

---

10.16

Abby had done a lot of recon jobs in the Army. She looked innocent and harmless; hence she was often sent to be on the lockout, to watch certain people or particular places. Truth was, she may have looked innocent and harmless, she had the eyes of a hawk and the senses of a shark. She was used to playing a role, acting, stealthily moving towards her goal. She had to teach herself certain composures, dialects and languages, how to act and react and she had to be prepared for every situation. She had to think worst case scenario. She had to know what to do in what situation, how to handle and push in the right directions.

She hadn't seen Garcia's comment coming. For the past days, their conversations had been light and somewhat joyful. They had exchanged small stories and facts about themselves. The sudden stinging depth in the conversation had taken Abby by surprise, but as in the Army, as a Ranger, she had to be prepared for everything. So she took the blow, she collected it, accepted it and stored it away in the back of her mind to be pondered about later.

The computer on Garcia's desk rang shrilly through the thick with tense air. Abby shot up from her chair, standing up to stand next to Garcia as she answered.

"Hello sweetness."

Derek's deep and manly voice echoed through the room as the sound of his voice erupted from the speaker, several faces of their team members appearing on the computer screen.

"Hey yourself."

Garcia smirked. She always did that. She smirked. Abby bit her tongue. She always did that.

"Tell me, what have you got?"

"Arnold Donalds was born on November seventeenth, nineteen-sixty-five. His mother was a schizophrenic, his father a drunk. He has a younger brother, Michael but he's clean. From the ages of eleven till fifteen, Donalds was admitted to the Utah State Hospital. His records were sealed but I managed to open them. He was treated for severe depression and anger management. He dropped out of high school at the age of sixteen, after that, everything went downhill. He started drinking, he was arrested three times for drunk driving has a couple of drunk and disorderly's. He has a three assault batteries and he looks really, really creepy."

As she talked, Garcia's fingers flew over the keyboard, hitting the keys in rapid pace, pictures, files and forms popping up on her screen.

"Those assaults, did he assaulted women?"

Prentiss' voice was softer than Morgan's and she wasn't visible on the screen – she was sitting further away from the computer, probably in the corner next to the window.

"Men and women."

"That's really odd."

Abby pictured the young genius sitting in the plane, his magnificent brain absorbing the information and processing it. His hand would be brought to his chin and his very own train would start moving. She could see his hand moving and smiled to herself.

"There's something else."

"What is it baby girl?"

"Arnold Donalds was admitted to the hospital several times. It all happened between the ages of six till eleven. Child Services paid a visit but it was already too late. They did, however admitted him to a mental hospital."

"By then, the damage had already been done."

Rossi's grim look was clearly visible on the screen. There was a short silence before Hotch spoke.

"Scott, what do you have so far?"

Abby stood up and approached the scenery of horror that she had created. She sensed Garcia following her with her keen eyes, wondering what Abby would say. After all, a preliminary profile was way too soon. Abby stood before the white board and her eyes chased the pictures, noting details, storing information. She could only tell them her instincts, her first thoughts and feelings. First details, first facts. What was the first thing that noticed her? What drew her attention almost instantly?"

She chewed on her lower lips and turned around.

"His first abduction was messy, sloppy. He quickly learnt from that which is pretty remarkable itself, paedophiles usually have a lower IQ, especially the men. It indicates an evolvement. He got smarter. He learnt from his mistakes. Still, he chose a six year old as his next victim, before stepping up the ladder. It's possible that he sees himself in those boys. It would interact with his history of abuse. Though there's no actual prove, they have researched paedophilia under people with an abusive history. He made a mistake with Calvin Garret, that's not his style. Even Kyle Davis was never found. Something must have happened. Something made him dump the boy carelessly."

Hotch nodded as Abby finished her sentence.

"They found the body just off the interstate, floating in the water a couple of miles away. He definitely got rid of him quickly."

Immediately, Reid grabbed a case file and the photos in it.

"Look at these drag marks near the dumpsite. The sand was moved further away and in different directions than when you've got a destination in front of you. The circle of disturbed sand is wider. He was in a hurry."

"I'll look at things that happened on and around the day Calvin was found."

"Garcia, while you're at it, I want you to take look really close at what connects these children."

"Already on it."

The chubby blond glanced at Abby, who could only shrug.

"Scott."

"Ya."

"I want you to continue on the preliminary profile. Help Garcia find that connection."

"Are you going to interrogate Donalds?"

Rossi shortly looked at the computer, surprised with her question. Hotch and Morgan exchanged looks before Hotch turned towards the laptop.

"Yes."

"I'm actually sort of an interrogation expert, so if you could arrange live feed and a way to communicate, I might be of some help other than making a profile based on guesses."

"Scott."

"Ya."

"Work on that profile."

"Yes sir."

Abby sighed shortly after the bleep that indicated the connection had been terminated. She turned around, tucked her hands in her pockets. Garcia remained silent, there was no clattering of keys being hit, no computers making soft, buzzing noises. Before Garcia had a chance, Abby exited the room.

"I'm going for a fag."

---

10.30

She had written the word 'paedophile' in the middle the paper and encircled it twice. There were three lines going up, one that ended with the word 'anger', 'sadness' and 'love'. The last was followed by several question marks. Underneath that, she had written single words that were part of the preliminary profile she had to put together. Poor social skills and a low self-esteem were typical under paedophiles. He wasn't too attractive, but not unattractive either. He didn't look suspicious; otherwise the kids wouldn't have trusted him.

The latter caused Abby to frown. The marker tightly placed in her hand hung in the air, a couple of inches away from the whiteboard. Garcia was working her magic behind the computer, her head turned slightly, and not very often. Abby pictured Garcia's eyes flashing from screen to screen as her fingers caused files to be opened, information once sought now found. She turned around and looked for the case files, going over it – or rather, how she missed it – in her head. She had been so caught up with the preliminary profile that she forgot the most obvious and skipped several highly important steps in the investigation. She got even angrier than she was, she was never this careless and never was she so sloppy. It wasn't like her to lose focus, she stayed sharp until the perp's were behind bars.

Once she found all the statements of the parents, she found her map of Salt Lake City. As she held the piece of large paper, she looked around. Abby had already used the space Garcia had assigned her to. She glanced at the tech and decided to go for it. She had wanted to use her office, but then she remembered she had no office. And then she remembered, if would be annoying to constantly walk up and down the hall to Garcia's closet. Too annoying. So she found some room for her map and hung the paper upon the wall, hoping Garcia wouldn't kill her for it. But she didn't even react to the sounds behind her, it was as if the blonde had quickly gotten used to the almost frantic movements of Abby.

Within ten minutes, seven red thumbtacks gathered around in the North-West area of Salt Lake City. This was a clue – a big, important clue – and it helped Abby in her profile. She could slam her hand against her forehead, she could not believe how stupid she had been. How could she have missed this? Or worse, how could she have gotten so tangled up and frustrated about Hotch and his pre-idiotic profile? She snorted as she answered the question in her head before grabbing the marker that had fallen on the ground. 'Obvious comfort zone' was added to the list on her board.

For the next hour, Abby flipped through the pages of autopsy rapports, let her eyes absorb the dramatic words of parents' statements, her fingers traced sentences that were of certain significance, her mind read, re-read and formed theories, idea's and mental notes were written down. Garcia had occasionally passed on the information she had found, usually verbal but also on paper. Real slowly, they started to build their case.

---

13.30

For the past two hours, Abby had worked on her preliminary profile. With some help of Garcia, she got pretty far. A couple of minutes ago, she had faxed it to the police station where they would set up their base. She called it a form of revenge; they would get there and the profile would be laying there, waiting for them. It wasn't finished yet and Abby had some loose ends she wanted to take a closer look at. They had heard from Salt Lake that Donalds lawyer'ed up. As if that helped them anything; the man still wouldn't talk.

Abby stared at his image as she leant back in the chair. He had a round, chubby face, deep lines in his face, greasy skin, short cut, dirty hair, his eyes hidden by something in his whole look. The man just screamed trouble at her. In a way, he reminded her of the junkies she had come across. Not just as, but he held a sense of filthy dirt that made a mess of their lives and those of the people around them. A door mat. He reminded her of a door mat.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm looking at our UnSub."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Abby sighed and her stomach growled in its attempt to get attention.

"Perhaps I hope to see a small sign, suddenly appearing on his forehead, only for a couple of seconds, saying 'I am a bastard. I killed those boys. I buried them underneath the fourth three on the eight row, thirteen-hundred steps from my backdoor."

Garcia snickered, but only slightly. There were six bodies missing. One of those small bodies possibly still alive.

"Seen it so far?"

"Nope."

"You think we could ask the sign to wait while we go out for lunch?"

"I dunno. I'll ask."

Abby had swivelled in the chair to meet Garcia and now turned back.

"Sign. This is Abby Scott. I am with the F.B.I. Do not flash on this arseholes forehead or I'll shoot."

With that, she clapped her hands once and stood up, making sure she grabbed her block note and pen on her way to the door. She heard Garcia's clicking heals right behind her and she headed down the corridor towards the elevators. The colourful blonde pushed the button, the bright and fairly large red ring on her finger shimmering in the slightly dull light.

"How's your boyfriend?"

"Kevin?"

"Yeah. How's Kevin?"

"Ask him yourself, he's meeting us downstairs for lunch."

"I will."

She smiled kindly wicked and glanced at the brunette next to her.

"How's your boyfriend."

"I don't know. If you know him, please ask."

Garcia mmh'ed as the elevator doors opened, shortly after the high pitched 'ding' sounded through the rather deserted hall.

"What?"

Both women stepped in the elevator and Abby noticed Garcia smile and nod at the woman in the corner. Abby didn't recognise her but still smiled friendly before turning her back towards the short woman.

"Nothing. I just didn't figure you for the no-boyfriend type of woman."

"What type of woman do you found me then?"

There was a clear and widely visible trace of shock, surprise but mostly fear in her voice. Profilers were one thing and Garcia might keep saying that she's not a profiler and doesn't see the things they did; she had a pair of eyes and a great set of brains and she knew how to use them. Not that she was worried that she might have seen right through her, she just couldn't imagine what type of woman Garcia thought she was and she was honestly surprised that the tech had actually thought about that.

"The type that always had some guy on speed dial, going out, having fun."

"You mean the type all the guys fall for, those empty, model-like behaving, starving shells?"

"No!"

Garcia laughed and chuckled again when seeing the horrifying expression on Abby's face.

"Nice condo, good bank account, company person, never bored, workaholic, rarely at home, always out doing something, living life."

"Part of that is true."

Abby went down the list after the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened. The women exited the moving cubicle and strode towards the exit to meet Kevin Lynch.

"Don't have a condo, I am since a couple of days the happy owner of a ruin that pretends to be a house. So far, it's doing a pretty good job. I have a pretty nice bank account. Not much of a company person, but I do have a dog. I am never bored, that's actually true. Workaholic. Also true. Rarely at home, well, if you consider the fact that I chase criminals across the country, you could say that. Always out doing something. True, because I'm always working. Living life? I'm twenty-seven, not in a steady relationship. I can't remember the last time I went out with friends for a drink. As a matter of fact, most of my friends live in Atlanta. Never really partied."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You need a life."

She tried to interrupt Penelope and tell her that she really didn't want a life, she was happy with the one she had, but the woman interlaced her arm with hers and waved at her boyfriend a couple of feet away.

"Sweet cheeks, you have found the right person. I shall make you a life. Hey sugar."

Kevin hesitantly pecked Garcia on the lips, all the while keeping an eye on Abby. Garcia noticed his looks and the sudden growing tension and intervened.

"Oh, Kevin, meet Abby Scott. But you can call her Frankie. Frankie, Kevin Lynch, aka 'The boyfriend'."

They had found a small place a block away from the building where it was calm and quiet. The threesome enjoyed a short, but satisfying meal while chatting along. Garcia had the elegant grace to take away all the awkwardness and uncomfortable feelings and air, a true gift. She just kept talking, about anything, smiling and lighting up the world as a little sparkle that ignited. The place was designed in a mid-seventies French style, country green with dark brown wood and the famous checkered gingham fabric as tablecloths. It smelled of the forest and fir-trees. The waiter was friendly and handsome and smiled a lot. Garcia and Kevin made him laugh and they spontaneously decided to give him a royal tip. Just as Abby checked her watch and brushed against the note block on the corner on the table, noting it was time to head back, her phone rang. A small silence fell between the three and Garcia anxiously watched Abby to see who it was and if it had something to do with the case.

"Scott."

"It's Hotch."

"Hotch."

She shook her head at Garcia, who was getting ready to sprint back to her closet.

"Good job on the profile."

"Thanks."

Abby stood up from the table to find some privacy and gestured with her hand that Penelope could remain seated and that everything was fine.

"It's not completely finished yet, I've some things I want to look at and look closer at, but it's what I got so far."

"Noticed anything strange? Hang on, I'll put you on speaker."

"There's something dodgy about the first kid that got abducted, but that's atop of my list of things to dig into. Uhm, the lab called, there is no DNA to compare with Donalds'. Most of the profile is based on the known standards, it can deviate. Oh, and I haven't received anything from the last crime scene yet."

"We'll send it to you."

"Thanks."

"Listen, Scott, about earlier-"

"Yeah, no, I get it. It's fine. I shouldn't have."

"You've done a lot of interrogations?"

"I did about two-hundred-fifty to three-hundred a year with SCU. I learnt from the best, followed all kinds of trainings and courses, even tagged along with a deception expert for a couple of weeks. Not that I ever want to do that again."

"I'll see what I can do about that live feed, can't promise you anything and you won't interview them directly, but you can watch."

"Great. Thanks boss."

"Oh, and Scott?"

"Ya?"

"That list of yours?"

"What about it?"

"Get it done. Fast."

"Copy."

The connection was broken and for a few seconds, Abby stared at the table-leg. Hotch's voice had sounded tensed at the end, worried and almost scared. Donalds wasn't talking and hired a lawyer, almost six hours passed since they started with the case and they still didn't have any solid leads. Time was slowly running out for Harry Bones.

---

16.13

Abby sat in Garcia's cupboard, behind her desk, in front of her beloved computers. She was leaning back in the chair, a finger pressed against her lips, her eyes fixed on the bulletin board. She had received an email from Prentiss a couple of minutes ago that live feed would have to wait, but that they would send the video file of the first interview as soon as they could. It was a bit of a setback for Abby, for hours she had stared at pictures, flipped through case files and absorbed words and sentences. She could use a change of scenery, so to speak. Not to mention that she wanted to see Donalds. From what she heard, she wasn't a hundred percent sure if he fit the profile, he might not have done it even though he confessed.

Then again, why would he confess? Donalds did fit the profile of an attention seeker, could be a reason. But he could go to jail for obstruction of justice, was he really willing to give up a couple of his years just for some attention? Another thing, if he was an attention junkie, why wasn't he talking? Donalds would have to hide something if he was unwilling to talk. There had to be something.

Behind her, the phone suddenly rang and interrupted Abby's string of thoughts. She swivelled the chair and read the display. Once she recognised it, she picked up the horn.

"Frankie."

It was silent for a second but then she heard his voice.

"Hey, sorry, I was expecting Garcia."

"Out for the loo. Can I help you?"

"Actually, you can... Is something wrong with your cell phone?"

Abby frowned at the black computer screen and reached into her pocket for the mobile device. She quickly checked the screen; battery was full, she counted three bars for a signal, which was enough to be reached.

"Uhm, yeah. Looks good."

"I tried calling you but you didn't pick up."

"Don't have any missed calls, sorry."

"Well, anyway, uhm, do you have complete access to Donalds' medical records?"

"Ya. Wait, you haven't received them? Garcia emailed them to you guys a couple hours ago."

Abby quickly grabbed the case file from the pile on the edge of Garcia's large desk. She opened it and flipped through it.

"Yeah, well, you're not going to believe it but they're having some internet connection problems. We've only received half your emails."

"Want me to fax it?"

"You read my mind s-"

She pretended not to hear the last part and she did her best not to imagine what he wanted to say. Quietly, she rolled over to the faxing machine and put the papers in order. As she pressed the right buttons, she spoke into the phone again.

"On its way."

"Thanks."

A tad blown away, Abby stared at the phone. That had to be the most awkward phone call she ever had in her life and that included the call she received from a hooker once. She shook her head and pressed the green button on the faxing machine before she would forget. Morgan had acted strangely towards her that morning as well. He would avoid eye contact, not that Abby sought out his dark eyes herself much. At first, he was his usual self, flirting, smirking, making jokes and messing with Reid. Then, suddenly, his attitude changed, he withdrew himself and just as Abby got too curious about what was going on, he changed back again, making jokes, winking.

Men dazzled her. She knew the saying that women didn't understand men and vice versa, but Abby had known a lot of men in her life. Small time dealers, big time dealers, pimps, junkies, drug lords, assholes, colleagues, police officers, suspects, murders, the guys she slept with. Some she understood, some she didn't. But Derek Morgan was something else. It was as if his dark orbs reflected all her thoughts and piercing, intriguing stares, casting them right back at her. Abby started to think that he was inscrutable; or at least too mysterious for her.

Garcia came back from her bathroom break and halted in the doorway. She stared at Abby with a confused and curious expression.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding a missing boy. I think."

The blonde analyst entered the room, closing the door behind her, and kneeled down next to her desk. Abby lay on the floor, her hands folded on her stomach as she watched the table from underneath. She had put up the seven pictures of the boys and went over their cases repeatedly, one by one. Kyle Davis was taken on his walk back to his home after staying at a friend's house. Lex Thomas and Mark Smith had been playing at the park. Felix Anderson never came home from school. Andy Jones and Calvin Garret were taken from the mall somewhere. Harry Bones never came home from school either. What connected those boys? What did they have in common? Where and what was the core?

---

20.14

After working for almost eleven hours, Abby decided to call it a day. The letters had been dancing in front of her face, pictures tangoing in her mind, Garcia's voice was constantly buzzing in her ear. She couldn't focus anymore. Abby had taken the case files, her copy of the profile with the additional notes from the team. JJ had kept her up to date about their actions, findings and theories once the internet connection was finally fixed at the police station of Salt Lake. Abby's mind had turned into one big knot of loose ends and after her fourth cup of coffee in an hour, Garcia had sent them both home.

She was almost too tired to drive and considered taking a cab but her pride got in the way. Luckily, the dark-grey Ford Mondeo Strauss had arranged for her was easy to drive, light on the road and comfortable to sit in. Abby avoided the busy streets; the lights would give her a headache. Once she finally reached her house, she remained in the car for several minutes. She had been up and running for the past twelve hours, her shoulder ached and her back throbbed in a dull pain. All of the sudden, she noticed a black shade near her front door, moving, lurking around. Instantly, her right hand reached to hip to grab the cold black metal, tension crawling up her legs, the sweet rush pumped into her veins. She noticed the shade again and slapped her forehead. Her dog Bird was walking around the front door; he must have heard the car. With the case, Abby had completely forgotten about her favourite beast. Suddenly filled with a new energy, she got out of the car and jogged towards her house.

"Oh love, I'm so sorry. I forgot all about you. How you doin'?"

The shepherd greeted her wildly and enthusiastic, wiggling his tail, his mouth open and breathing loud and rapidly. After less than ten seconds, the dog ran out to do his business, ignoring his worried and guilt-ridden owner still standing in the doorway.

Normally, when she still lived in Atlanta, Abby would bring Bird to a friend's, only on a rare occasion to the kennel. Her new neighbours loved the big and fluffy animal and had offered to take him whenever Abby was out on a job. She had a thing against kennels and might take them up on their offer. Jack and Marie were nice people, good and kind. Their eleven year old son, whom was ironically enough also named Frankie, was a boy scout and he and Abby had already had a few encounters in the woods where he would wander and built his tree house. Sighing, she leant against the doorframe and wondered why she had forgotten her best and favourite companion. She recalled the events of this morning and remembered the frigid, stabbing chills that had ran over her back again, but that wouldn't cause her to forget Birdie. Abby simply had forgotten all about him.

She cursed at herself a couple of times, discovering quickly that it didn't make her feel any better. Turning and leaving the front door open, she took off her coat. As she wanted to step forward and toss the coat on a couple of empty boxes, Abby's leg hit something hard and she stumbled forward, loud and hard steps on her hardwood floor. She cursed again as she regained her balance and laid her eyes upon the still filled moving boxes, kicked it, all the while repeating the word 'Stupid'. She should have moved the box. She shouldn't have forgotten Bird. She shouldn't go to bed but work the case. She shouldn't let that Derek Morgan get under her skin. She should forget about the picture, burn and bury it. She should have done so many things, the dishes, the laundry, sent professor Langley the requested materials, vacuum clean, fix the sink in the bathroom, repair the wooden floor where she dropped her couch.

Stupid.

Stupid stupid stupid.

And she still hadn't found Harry Bones.

---

_"Time passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true."_

Marcel Proust


	3. Part of the missing

Because I lack of creativity and originality, I present to you Cal Lightman, 'borrowed' from 'Lie to Me*'. I actually started watching the series (Lie to Me*) as research, but I ended up enjoying the show so much, I get up early before work on Tuesday just to watch it online. I know. Don't start.

---

_"But maybe it's up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it's never found. But what you find, whatever you find, is always only part of the missing."_  
Paul Engle

---

07.06

She was late. She was never late. She was early, exceptionally early, always. It wasn't like her to be late. Perhaps she had overdone it yesterday. Asked too much of herself. Then again, she was used to long and tiresome days. Cuba, her Havana born and raised ex-colleague , the tall, handsome Hispanic also known as Crazy Cuba, once joked that you weren't truly SCU if you didn't develop insomnia while working for Angie Wills. Or at least knew how to function according to F.B.I. protocol on four hours of sleep. They often blamed Wills for their lack of sleep, but when it came down to it, when they were in the middle of a case, none would rest until they caught whomever done it. They wouldn't think of sleep before their perp was locked away behind bars, fellow cellmates telling him or her not to drop the soap.

Abby opened her eyes, her German shepherd gazing at her, his hot breath in her face. Once she registered the time, she protested loudly. Bird pressed his moist nose against her arm as if telling her to get out of bed and she moaned slightly. It was too early. She pushed the dog away and slowly forced herself from between the nice warm sheets. Shuffling barefoot and carefully, she made herself some coffee as she decided not to go for a run today. Instead, she took Bird for a long walk, her pet running around her in the forest.

During her walk, she used her will to temporarily forget about the case; she would have the rest of the day ruminating about that subject and Harry Bones. Right now, she had another important, more pressing matter twirling around in her mind. The mail she had received yesterday. The picture. An eminent threat that had entered her subconscious and haunted her dreams. The cold that had entered her body, adamant chills shaking her bones. Whilst twigs broke under her feet and Bird sniffled the trees and followed her footsteps, she thought about her options. Abby would call Miles, that was one thing she was sure of.

Milo Bronckovic was her best friend, had been ever since they met when they were six. He was almost everything she wasn't; open, outgoing, kind, vigorous, enthusiastic. He lived life, as Garcia would say. The one thing they did have in common was their sense of humour, which many people considered odd, strange and at times, rather perverted. They used to be the same sluts, every night they went out another, new, lover. That was until Milo met Louisa. Louisa Delgado was a great gal, she and Abby got along great together and their usual visits to the local pub remained. Not a lot had changed now that Louisa was a part of Miles' picture, he was still her buddy, they still did stupid things together, still risked their lives. Only difference was that afterwards, they'd both met an unusual pissed off Louisa, taking off their heads and screaming at them until she nearly lost her ability to speak.

Miles used to be a technical analyst but his keen eye was spotted seven years ago by SSA Trevor Harrison, a former member and colleague of the SCU. Milo took the classes, was quickly accepted and welcomed by SCU and put to use. He was the one she would call if she found herself in trouble she couldn't resolve herself. He was the one she signalled whenever she had hooked up with the wrong guy and needed a quick getaway. Technically, he was everything Abby had next to Bird.

They had the amazing ability to communicate with every word, or even without. Abby and Miles had created a language only they understood. It wasn't really that odd though, they'd met in kindergarten and had been best friends ever since. Nothing sexually ever happened between them, if they didn't count the kiss in sixth grade. With every step in Miles' life, Abby had been right next to him. When some punk had robbed his house, she would sneak out of her own to stay with him until he fell asleep. She held his hand during his younger sisters' funeral and was right there with him again, ten years later, when he lost both his parents. She was actually with him during their 'Saturday night's drinking night' when Miles had seen Louisa. Abby had encouraged him to go and talk to her, before Louisa would be gone. Or Miles himself; two days later shipped off to Africa to fight in the war.

Abby would say that the best moment of her live would be the moment when she and Miles returned home safely, and Louisa stood there waiting for him. Once she laid her eyes on him, she speeded down the hall to meet his warm and loving arms again. To Abby, after returning from a completely different, much more violent and disturbing world, carrying horrifying memories with her, seeing Miles and Louisa spinning around on a military airfield, was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Her train ride of thoughts had brought her back to her house and she entered it, glancing at her watch when she took off her coat. 07.48. Sighing wearily at the long day ahead of herself, she gathered a couple of Bird's toys, grabbed his bowl and some food while she had pressed speed dial and waited for Miles to pick up his phone.

"You better be dead, dying or in jail."

She smiled at his morning greetings.

"Ello love, good morning."

"Well, you're not dead. You sound pretty alive, so you're not dying. That leaves jail."

"Not quite, sorry mate."

Miles snorted shortly and she heard him get out of bed.

"What's up?"

"You got time?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

One of the things she loved about Miles, was his voice. It was too high pitched to be manly or handsome, hoarse enough to suspect him of smoking two packs a day and somehow, extremely sexy. Miles himself was not a guy that wouldn't notice in a crowded bar, but he definitely was not a guy you could miss. Big, round eyes, hazel brown and catching, seeming superfluous but he didn't miss a thing. He was rather short, only slightly taller than Abby and the biggest heart you could imagine. He was the only person she allowed to let her hug constantly and kiss her on the cheeks all the time.

"Frankie?"

Abby had let a brief silence interrupt them and she was brought back from her memories after hearing his voice. The cigarette was brought to her mouth and she expertly lit it.

"What's wrong?"

"I received a picture yesterday."

"Oh. Is it any good?"

"I'd say so. It's a picture of me, Miles, taken from 'bout a hundred feet from my house."

"Yeah, I figured."

"Do you know anything?"

She tried not to sound desperate, too desperate. If there was one thing she hated, it was begging.

"We lost the trail shortly after you left."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"I'll talk to Wills-"

"No."

Her voice was firm and strong, to the point, justified, but not loud.

"No. I don't want Wills in this."

"I'll do the digging myself then, as always."

"Gotta climb up the ladder before people start digging for you."

Miles laughed.

"Talking about that, how's the B.A.U.?"

"Hasn't changed much since you asked last Wednesday."

"Should I call more often?"

This time, it was Abby's turn to laugh.

"Miles, we finally admitted that we had a problem. We worked on that problem, consider us just out of rehab. Last thing we need to do is fall back into our routine."

"Fine. But can I at least call you at work?"

"We both work almost every day so we would still talk every single friggin' day."

The man on the other end sighed exaggerated and overdramatically.

"Okay. Wait, you know what? I'll take tomorrow off and come see you tonight. I'll set up the camera security, you make sure you're home early and I'll take care of the tequila."

"Deal."

After their goodbye's, they hung up. Abby sighed at the long day she had ahead for herself and smoked her cigarette while staring out the window. She would be back at the F.B.I. Academy early, too early for Garcia, which provided Abby with some quiet thinking time while she started on her list. First on that list was looking into Kyle Davis' case. She had taken a quick look at it yesterday, read all the files and let her mind take it for a spin, but nothing of any worth had come out. After that, she was able to take one last look at the profile. JJ had informed Abby that they would send the final profile today. She would dig deep down into that before moving on the evidence of their last case, the disappearance of Harry Bones. Abby felt that she had studied the other cases long enough to start on Harry Bones'. By then, she would grab a very late lunch, call her neighbours to check up on Bird whom she would drop off in a bit, before finally meeting Arnold Donalds. Abby hoped that they had managed to send the first two video files of the interviews so she could take a look at Donalds. Finally, after all of that, she would have to find the time to take a closer look at Calvin Garret's case and found out why that one was so different. When she had done that, she wished she could hold on to her end of the deal; get home earlier than usual.

The idea that Miles was going to be with her tonight and get her a security system comforted her. She hoped that she didn't drag Miles down into whatever mess she had gotten herself in this time. Wills was good to her people, but if you did things behind her back, she chopped off your balls and hung your head upon her wall as a trophy. She imagined herself getting excited about seeing him tonight, rather than being relieved that he would secure her house and unknowingly protect her tonight. Abby shook her head and put her cigarette out, who was she kidding?

---

08.26

The caramel and walnut scent lingered around her nose, teasing her nostrils with every sip she took, before dancing on her tongue and putting her in pure ecstasy. Slurping slightly, Abby stared at her whiteboard, hot carbon cup of coffee in her lap, her legs popped up on one of Garcia's desks. She was sure that if the blonde would found her sitting like that in her cupboard, she would kill her. Still, Abby intensively gazed at the board and wondered where to begin in this messy rollercoaster that was her mind.

Mitch McKinry, her former DEA mentor, the guy that taught her everything she needed to know to survive in a world where drugs was the air, sex was water and women were your doormat, he once told her she needed to start at the beginning. Starting in the middle would leave her wondering where to go and starting at the end made her walk backwards. She owed him a lot and she considered him part of the reason why she now was where she stood. Not to mention the things he taught her, street-wise. A lot of his idea's and thoughts helped Abby later in her career and she formed her own theories. He was a great man, kind and witty, he took care of Abby like he took care of everybody else in his squad. When he resigned to enjoy life and be around his family and grandchildren, she felt as if there was no reason to stay at DEA. But before he had left, he put a good word in for her at Scotland Yard, where Abby had wanted to work for months. A couple of days after McKinry left, she packed her bags and flew to England.

The caramel and walnut scent made her smile as she suddenly remembered; McKinry was crazy about that coffee. If anybody pissed him off, they would make their amends while holding a cup of caramel-flavoured coffee. Abby put her legs down and focused back on the case, back on Kyle Davis. She realised that sitting in that chair and staring at the pictures would get her nowhere, hence she stood up and approached the whiteboard, taking a sip of her coffee in the process.

"You're early."

Garcia stood in the door opening, carrying a pink handbag that matched her skirt. Over the black, long sleeved shirt, she wore a pink scarf, wrapped around her neck. Her pumps were as pink as her handbag and Abby wondered if you bought it as a set or Garcia had stumbled upon matching shoes.

"Always. Morning."

"Morning."

"I brought you coffee."

Abby pointed at the cup that stood next to her keyboard and she saw Garcia freeze. Real carefully and slowly, as if treading thin ice, the tech grabbed the cup and placed it far away from her beloved machines.

"Sorry."

Garcia glanced in her direction, to which she replied with a careless shrug.

"I talked to Derek this morning."

"That's great."

She zoned out the moment she cocked her head to the right and looked at the picture of Kyle Davis. Her eyes shortly flashed at the map.

"He said you were acting weird yesterday."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really. He also said that he wants to marry you."

"That's great."

"He's madly, madly in love with you, he can't stop talking about you."

"Uhu."

"Frankie."

"Ya?"

Garcia threw one of her pens at Abby's head. The woman was startled enough to spill coffee over her hand and black jeans, little on the floor.

"What?!"

"I was talking to you."

"Well, I'm sorry, I was busy solving a case."

"Any word yet?"

Abby used her jeans to dry her hand and she tossed what was left of her coffee in the bin.

"No."

"You got anything new?"

Steam came from beneath the train, compelling and peril, suffocating her. The door opened, welcoming and invitingly. The whisper became louder, echoing through her head, a soft voice screaming.

"Not yet. You were saying?"

"Derek called."

"What about?"

The blonde tech smiled weakly and her eyes locked with Abby's.

"About you."

"What about me?"

"He wanted to know if you were okay."

"That's nice of him."

"You sounded kinda off yesterday."

She raised her lower lip, her lips forming an upside-down smile.

"I'm fine."

Garcia mmh-ed and placed her bag under her desk. Abby watched her for a while before she turned back to Kyle Davis.

Kyle Davis never came home after playing at a friend's house, a couple of houses from where he lived. Apparently, he had wandered out of the backyard after Duke, his friend, pushed him out of the sandbox. Duke's mother, Lola, told the police that she heard one of the kids cry, but as soon as she got to the yard, he was gone and the door of the five feet tall, wooden and white fence stood wide open. Kyle had to have been taken during his two minute walk back to his house. He was possibly crying. A child molester couldn't have helped himself. After all, who could ignore a crying six-year old?

There were two types of paedophiles; situational and preferential. If their perp was preferential, he would have been watching Kyle for days, at least. But then, all the boys would have had something in common, a resemblance. So far, a few of them were alike, two blonds, four dark-haired boys and one with deep black hair. He would have a certain type; the colour of their eyes (four blue, one green and two brown), hair colour, even skin colour. No, the UnSub that took Kyle, assumed to be Arnold Donalds, was definitely situational. A particular situation would have allowed him access to the boys, or Kyle Davis in this case. It just happened to be the case that the young boy walked right passed Donalds' house on his way home.

"Hey, Garcia, look at this."

"Yeah?"

Abby pointed at her map, the red thumbtack that kept a small white piece of paper with the number 'one' pushed against the map.

"This, this is where Kyle Davis was taken, give or take. This-"

She tapped on the printed picture of Salt Lake City a few inches away from the first thumbtack.

"This is where Donalds' lives. You see how the area where he took the boys widens?"

"It's expanding. That means he's expanding his territory, right?"

"Ya, sort of. He's getting more comfortable."

Garcia stood up and walked over to Abby. Her eyes went over the large chart and she mumbled softly.

"Here."

Her finger, the red ring glistering again, was placed next to the number seven, which represented Harry Bones.

"This one goes back into the circle."

"Because they found Calvin Garret's body. He got scared, headed back into his comfort zone."

The tech lowered her finger again and looked at Abby.

"Does that tell you anything where you can find the boy?"

"Yes and no. The fact that he outgrew his original comfort zone so fast means he got smarter and more arrogant. He started taking risks and he liked it. That means he could have dumped the boys everywhere, any place he ever visited and or knows. That's consistent with where they found Calvin Garret, a couple of miles off route 80. That's over 9 miles from his house, say a twenty-five minute drive. But, he's in a hurry, something when wrong when he dumped Calvin, something happened. So the moment something doesn't go according to plan, he inverts back into his comfort zone. Somewhere north of route 80 has to be a place of some sort of significance to Donalds. It's the only reason why he would drive there every time, even when he was in a hurry to dump Calvin's body."

"Okay, I'll start digging."

"Look into his past, grandparents, vacation houses, anything."

Garcia spun around in her chair and stared at Abby, a small smile playing across her lips.

"I don't tell you how to do your job so don't tell me how to do mine."

"Sorry, Almighty Computer God."

She heard the blonde snort and smiled herself. Quickly, she wrote down what they just had discovered. The night train was calm and quite again, lurking in the fog, the shadows laying down, watching their prey. They had fed, for now. They were quiet, for now. Abby nodded to herself, this was going in the right direction, she felt the tingling sensation move up her legs like a hand trailing her skin from her toes to her head. She knew that feeling and she loved it and had missed it. Finally, she felt like she was doing something of importance, she was getting back into the action.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Abby leant against the wooden desk, crossed her arms before her chest as she looked at Garcia.

"Yeah, shoot."

The blonde barely shifted her eyes off the computer screens as she spoke.

"Is it true you got shot?"

This caused her rapidly moving fingers to pause, letting the heated keyboard underneath them rest and she swivelled in her chair to meet Abby's eyes.

"Why'd you wanna know?"

She shrugged again.

"I heard some stories, wanted to know if they were true or not. I mean, technical analysts usually don't get shot."

"What? Stories didn't tell you? I'm the exception. Exceptionally bright, exceptionally smart, exceptionally witty…"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"I got myself my own personal idiot with a hero complex. Something about his red cap not wanting to take him flying."

Abby smiled at Garcia and her always light and colourful way choice of words.

"So, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

The analyst remained quiet and just gazed at Abby. She could see her bright mind working and thinking, picking words and putting them in an appropriate order.

"Garcia, just spill it, will you? If it's about Derek-"

Oh, she could just grab her Glock and shoot her brains out. Penelope's face started twitching and her lips formed themselves into a mischievous grin.

"Derek? Now why would I-. No way!"

"Crap. Look."

Abby shifted her weight and stood back on her feet.

"Nothing happened okay, there's nothing going on and nothing will ever happen. Okay?"

"I was gonna ask if you ever got shot but you, you just crashed and burnt babe."

"Double crap."

She sighed and closed her eyes, turning away from the pretty blonde.

"Don't blame yourself, it's hard not to have a thing for him."

"Right."

"I mean, he's a looker, handsome, caring, manly. He's real eye-candy. And then his eyes-"

"Ya, I got it. He's a looker."

Garcia chuckled amused as Abby sighed again.

"So-"

Abby cut her off again, interrupting rude and bold, not caring.

"I don't want to talk about it. Shut up."

"Shutting up sarge."

---

11.15

She held a piece of paper in her hand, sitting back in her chair, legs once again placed on the desk before her. Her other hand held a bottle of cold water, the moisture on the outside wetting her hands, causing the bottle to slowly slide from between her fingers. Black words stood on white paper and each string of words contained a story, a long, long meaning behind the curtains. Reading a profile wasn't easy, as she used to think. It took a lot of time to set up hence it took a lot of time to read, after all, she had to read the invisible words that came along with the black letters on the once blank page. Take 'lack of social skills'. Lack of social skills meant that he was withdrawn, didn't have many friends. He wouldn't like to go out, instead he'd stay home and entertain himself. Lack of social skills also called upon many hours of fantasizing, something many serial killers did in their younger years. Fantasizing was all about being in control and being powerful. Most people get to a point where they realise that fantasies will always be just fantasies. Others, serial killers, rapists, arsonists, they can't stand it and they can't deal with the fact that their dreams about a good life for them, doing what they longed for for so long, be in control and be powerful just turned into a mirror that broke with their slightest movement.

The broken glass would cut deep into their soul, the shards reflecting their mangled and horrendous reflection and thoughts. Then, a serial killer, rapist, arsonist, is born. That's when they reach the point where they no longer wish to live in their dreams and fantasies and take control. Do what they longed for for so long. Kill the girl they had a crush on but she didn't look twice at their faces. Rape that school teacher that was always so damned annoying and turned them on with her long skirts, long hair and seducing smile. Burn down the neighbor's house because their kid got the things that they wanted. They normally practiced on animals first, to lessen the thirst, to get familiar with the feeling of being a spawn of Satan, endure the thoughts of torture and death in reality.

Lack of social skills generally implied that a person held some sort of abuse in his childhood, hence the reason they are usually withdrawn and shy. It could also be because of a low IQ which caused the person to slowly disappear. In Donalds' case, his mother was a schizophrenic. She was probably never able to truly show her love for her children, if she loved them in the first place. Neither Arnold nor Michael, his younger brother, inherited the 'gene'. Then there was the abuse. Garcia had searched if there was any indication that the younger brother was also smacked around, but she had found none. Arnolds took his blows as well or by the time his brother was 'of age', his father stopped.

Abruptly, the train stopped, the metal wheels cried out as they scratched past the rails and the high pitched cry in her ears caused her to wince slightly. Hurried and feverishly, the agent sought Arnold's record between the pile of case files and information that had built up. She finally found it and once she opened it and flipped to the right page, her eyes flew over the sentences to get to the part the night train had taken her. 'Assault batteries'. 'men and women', 'anger management'. Donalds was abused, there was no doubt. Both Abby and Garcia had seen the hospital pictures, read the mental facility's reports. You didn't get those bruise by falling down a flight of stairs and you didn't just suffer from a severe depression. His inability to control his anger was not uncommon amongst abused children. It was, however, something important. Something she missed.

Abby reached to her phone and dialled Hotch's number. Waiting impatiently, she tapped on the desk, driving Garcia insane.

"Hotchner."

"Hotch, it's Frankie. Listen, I just went through the profile, it looks really good, there's just one small catch that I think we should look at."

She heard him talk to someone else and a brief interlude kept her from speaking.

"Go ahead."

"Donalds was abused as a kid, right."

"Yeah."

"He was in Utah State Hospital for anger management also. He assaulted a man and two women on several occasions. It's safe to say that he's one angry, pissed off man."

Hotch made a sound that told her that he agreed and was listening carefully to hear where she was going.

"Calvin Garret's body showed little signs of abuse. Except for the bruises around his mouth, there is no sign of abuse. Now, doesn't that sound strange for a man with an anger management problem?"

"You're thinking he has a partner?"

"Could be. Or he really cares for these boys."

"That means there's a reason behind why and where he took them, where he kept them and where he dumped them."

"Garcia is already looking into the latter, based on the geographical profile, Reid confirmed."

"Prentiss is looking if there's a connection between the boys, she figured the same. Still, it's another way we can approach him."

"Has he said anything yet?"

"Nothing about the boys. We did get him to talk, but he won't talk about any of them."

"I'll take a look at the tapes, see if I can think of anything."

"Okay, keep me updated."

"Copy."

"What was that about?"

Garcia was once again looking at the younger woman and had turned her chair.

"Could be a massive breakthrough."

"You think so?"

"Well, at least it's another way of talking to him, he might speak once they approach him with caution and be gentle."

"I hope so. Poor kid."

"Yeah."

---

12.43

She had rescheduled her lunch once she walked past the vending machines on her way out for a smoke. Outside, she made a quick call to Miles to inform him it could be an all nighter, but he objected and told her to make sure she got her ass at her place at nine, no later. She smiled at the phone after she hung up, Miles had his way of taking care of her, one that she gradually accepted and ended up appreciating. On her way back, she got a few snacks from the strange but proven useful invention. Abby arrived back at Garcia's cupboard the same time she did and Garcia excitedly met Abby's face.

"Guess what?"

"You won the lottery."

Her comment had been dry and she paid little to no attention to the wound up tech as she peeled off the last layer of her banana and took a large bite whilst throwing the banana skin in the bin.

"Kevin and I took a look at those security tapes from the mall, we got something."

"What?"

Abby's attention had been drawn and she quickly took place next to the blonde, whom started typing away the second her butt touched the soft fabric that covered her chair.

"Look at this, my love. Behold, magic."

She leant in closer and recognized the mall, the Valley Fair Mall, where both Andy Jones and Calvin Garret were last seen. Suddenly, in black and white view, she saw the seven year old Calvin walk through the mall, a man accompanying him. He was wearing a large, oversized jacket, no words or signs on it, dark jeans, working boots. He also wore a black baseball cap that blocked the camera's view on his face. The man had his hand on the boy's shoulder and Calvin seemed calm and comfortable.

"They weren't taken with force. He looks trustworthy, he's kind, his history of abuse would allow him to understand how to handle kids, or at least how not to handle them."

"Keep watching, the show isn't over yet."

Abby watched Donalds walk away with Calvin, exiting the mall. Once they were out of the camera's range, she looked back at Garcia.

"Keep watching."

As told, she forced her eyes back on the screen.

"There!"

Garcia froze the video and cleared the image with just a couple of keys being pressed. As she leant in more, her breath formed faint clouds on the computer screen. Abby was looking at a car, the driver's face cut off but she recognized the man; it was Donalds.

"Don't suppose you got a license plate, do ya?"

The blonde smirked and Abby replied the smile. Stupid question.

"It's registered to Donalds. He's definitely our guy."

---

13.01

After Garcia called Hotch with their newfound discovery, she went out to get some coffee. This gave Abby the opportunity to take a look at the two video files of Donalds' interview. She opened her email and searched for the files. Once she found them, she double clicked to open them, causing a video player to pop onto her screen and it started playing. Just as she made herself comfortable, her cell phone rang.

"Frankie."

"It's Hotch."

His voice caused her to jump up and she had to fight the urge to stand up and pace around.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Have you looked at the interviews yet?"

"Nope, not yet. I was just about-"

"Do it now."

Though his sentence was short and his words were poorly chosen, she could hear in Rossi's voice, however, that it was not how he meant it. She grabbed the mouse next to the keyboard and pressed 'play'.

"Okay. Hi, by the way, Rossi. I reckon I'm on speaker."

"Scott-"

"I'm watching, I'm watching!"

The first thing she noticed, was his composed and possibly calm and at ease expression. He didn't look agitated, nor nervous, agitated or excited. He was cool and tranquil, serene. There was something odd about it. If he was their killer, he would show at least signs of stress. He had, after all, been arrested two days ago, several detectives had given it a go to get him to speak and then the F.B.I. came. Morgan looked intimidating, Hotch's eyes were impelling and Prentiss' choice of words made you shudder, not to mention that you easily underestimated her. Something that he knew and they didn't, caused such a comfort that Arnold Donalds almost looked nonchalant.

"Are you watching?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"He doesn't fit the profile."

"Nope. Not at all. Crap."

"He has a partner."

She couldn't help but smile when she heard Reid's voice and found some sort of weird happiness upon hearing him as if he was a long lost friend. She had paused the video the moment she realised she was part of the conversation and needed to pay attention.

"Or he didn't do it."

Prentiss voice sounded close and Abby figured she sat next to Hotch, where she usually sat.

"You think he's after the publicity?"

"He could also be protecting somebody."

Abby shivered, if only so briefly, once she heard his voice. She mentally cursed at herself, as she always did and tried to focus on the conversation.

"Is Garcia with you?"

There they went again, salsa-ing through her mind, his voice like hands all over her body, the music vibrating through her body as sensation, lust and sexual arousal.

"No, she's getting some coffee."

"Have Garcia go through his entire social life, if he is indeed protecting somebody, there should be some sort of record. Someone he met in rehab, at the hospital, while he was in the mental hospital, everywhere."

Hotch took charge again and Abby sensed an underlying tone of stress and tension. The chances that they would find Harry Bones alive were getting slimmer and slimmer by the minute.

"Got it. Uhm, can I talk to you? Privately?"

There was some slight rumble as Abby pictured Hotch picking up his cell phone, pressing the right button and put it to his ear while he distanced himself from the group.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like your permission to send those interviews to a friend of mine, Cal Lightman. He's a deception expert, he's really good. Perhaps he's able to help us, see something we don't, put us in the right direction?"

"How do you know him?"

"I tagged along with him for a couple of weeks. Like an internship. We kept in touch."

"Okay, let me know how it goes."

With that, the connection was broken off and silence penetrated her ear. She kept holding the phone, ready to call the man she nicknamed 'The Crazy Brit'. And for a reason. The man was brilliant, exceptionally brilliant, but all his knowledge had made his brain expand and he turned mental. Nonetheless, they had built an odd friendship, equally, but visible differences between them. Cal once called her the best liar he ever encountered and he still tried to crack Abby and 'her code', much to her dismay. One of the reasons she immediately felt connected to Hotch was because he had the same catching, frigid metal penetrating eyes, those that noticed every single, tiny, little thing. At first, she hated it and spent her time between flirting with his cute researcher and pushing Lightman away, building her defences. In the end, Cal had confessed that he was more than extremely interested to know what she was hiding, but respected her and therefore he'd let it be. If Abby found herself in trouble and Miles didn't pick up the phone, Cal Lightman was the first person she would think of to be her knight in shiny armour, if only because he was the expert on getting out of crazy and/or tricky situations.

After she was brought back to earth and her thoughts were discarded among the many others inside her mind, she pressed play again.

Hotch and Morgan entered the interview room and took their seats. Both took their time and for a split second, Abby's eyes followed Morgan's butt as he sat down. She mentally smacked herself and rewound back to the part where they entered. Instead of watching Morgan's ass, she watched Donalds' expression. He looked at both men, seized them up. Hotch introduced the both of them and Abby noted the microscopic smile that flashed on Donalds' face once hearing the words 'F.B.I.'. He was enjoying this. Whether that meant that he sought attention and could possibly have lied when he confessed or that his ego grew and that there was indeed something he knew and they didn't, remained a buried, well-hidden secret. One that she was sure, she would find later.

As Morgan and Hotch interrogated the normal looking man, she kept watching for signs or micro-expressions. For a while, they practically talked about the birds and the bees; step one in a neuro-linguistic interview, create a bond. They had to gain his trust and when the time was right, they would extract their claws and sink them in his flesh and tear him apart.

"I see you've taken my spot."

Garcia had returned and Abby pushed her chair in the door's direction as if saying 'take a seat' without breaking her gaze from the screen. She replied by sitting down and rolled the chair next to Abby.

"That's him."

"Yup."

"This the interview?"

"Yup."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I can actually do multiple things at once."

Garcia snorted and her eyes found the same image Abby was staring at.

For ten minutes, both women looked at the rectangle screen and watched Morgan and Hotch in their attempts to uncover where Harry Bones was. Abby rewound and froze the video several more times and softly tapped with her fingers on the desk, the other still holding the phone. The video ended but Abby kept staring at the now black screen.

"Creepy dude."

"Creepy, lying dude."

"What do you mean?"

"There's something he's not telling."

As she talked, Abby rewound the video to illustrate her words.

"He smiles when he finds out they're F.B.I. Either he's arrogant or he knows something we don't. Perhaps he knows we'll never find the boy without his help. That could also make him feel special and appreciated. He'll try to make this last for as long as he can, which would add up with the fact that he confessed and then kept his mouth shut. Now, when he's asked if he knows where Harry Bones is, he says no, but look at that. It's a classic one-sided shrug. It means that he has no confidence what he's saying. He's lying. Next, when Morgan mentions the sexual abuse-"

Abby paused the video and zoomed in on his face.

"Look at that, scorn. Disgust. He didn't have sex with those boys, in fact, he is disgusted by it. Then, when Hotch again asks where the boys are, he replies with 'You'll never find him'. Donalds' knows who were talking about, he's in on it. He knows something about it and this-"

She grabbed a pen from Garcia's desk and tapped on the screen, right where the paused video of Donalds' shows a small and excruciatingly short smile.

"Confirms that."

"So, what does that mean?"

"I don't know. Garcia, I think he might not have done it."

"What? Then what about the security tapes from the mall?"

"I don't know. Someone could have taken his car or borrowed it."

---

16.15

She had prolonged her execution for hours, filling it up with Calvin Garret's case. Garcia had found out that the day Calvin was dumped (autopsy revealed that he had been dead for at least a day) was actually his brother Michael's birthday. They'd done a background check on the man, but nothing suspicious popped up. Michael wasn't exactly the brightest, but there were no records. He worked at Sharp's Tarps, a company in the trucking industry and they became lead manufactures in truck cover and repair, whereas Arnold worked at a local mall, Valley Fair to be exact. This whole case stank and Abby wondered what would take them where tomorrow.

Right now, she had, however, other things on her mind. She stood outside, had forgotten her coat and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as if dancing. The smoke that parted from her lips was blown away by the wind and it turned it in a small, sharp line of grey, toxic clouds. Abby held her phone in her hand, her thumb already on the 'call' button. As she lit another cigarette after letting the other fall on the ground, she pressed the green button.

"Ah, my favourite person."

It took him seconds to pick up and his comedic, light voice, British accent perfectly clear in the air filled one of Abby's ears.

"Hey Cal."

She replied with her own thick British accent. One Brit to the other, Cal would always say, followed by his wicked smile and sparkling eyes.

"What? Who is this?"

"It's me, Cal."

She sighed, making sure the phone was out of hearing reach. Abby had expected this, Cal Lightman was never easy and never simple, but he made it a habit to annoy her as much as he could. Somehow, he always knew exactly when and where to stop, making it impossible for Abby to actually dislike him.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember any me's."

"Cal."

"Yeah?"

"Okay, I'm sorry. I should have called, okay? Happy now?"

"Oh, hey Frankie, how're you doing love? It's been ages."

"I'm good. You?"

"Fantastic."

As usual.

"How's Emily?"

"Good too. But I reckon you didn't call me just to chat, did you love?"

"No, not really."

"What's up? You okay?"

"You already asked that."

"You're avoiding the answer."

"I'm fine."

"Different answer. You know you can always call me, right? Always. Whether we don't hear from you for weeks or not. I mean it."

"I know, Cal. I know. Thanks."

"Okay, so what else is going on?"

"I could use some help. I'm with the B.A.U. now, transferred about a month ago. Anyway, we're working a case, a man confessed to killing six boys, only one body was recovered and a seventh is still missing. I've got a couple of interviews, would you mind looking at them?"

"No, of course not. What's your theory?"

"I don't know Cal. I mean, I'm a bit reluctant to speak it out loud with my new team, we haven't really gotten used to each other yet, so I haven't actually tried it out."

"Well, go on already."

"I don't think he did it. I think I know for sure that he didn't rape those boys-"

"Wow, wow, you think you know for sure. What happened to Monster?"

Abby sighed and gritted her teeth when she heard her nickname. She had found Frankenstein a tad offensive hence Cal moved to 'Monster'. It had become a pet name for her, one she accepted, but not one she was proud of.

"I'll try to visit next week, I'll tell you all about it. Just, look at the video's, okay?"

"Got it. Are you sure you're alright sweetheart?"

"I'm goodly fine, Cal. Thanks."

He snickered. She smiled. Something strange, an odd relationship.

"You're welcome."

---

_"We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end we become disguised to ourselves"_

François de la Rochefoucauld


	4. In friendship or in love

_"No human relation gives one possession in another - every two souls are absolutely different. In friendship or in love, the two side by side raise hands together to find what one cannot reach alone."  
_Kahlil Gibran

---

19.45

The radio played softly, accompanied by the weeping sound of the windscreen wiper and the rain tickling down on the dark grey, five doors, Ford Mondeo. It was already dark outside and the tall buildings around her looked sinister and threatening. Lighting broke the sky in two and shortly blinded her. Seconds later, thunder shook her world. She hated thunderstorms. Hated it ever since she was born, she couldn't help it. It held a peril warning, a threat that invaded her body like her worst enemy and gave her goose bumps. The tip of her cigarette casted a faint, reddish glow through the car, smoke floating above it, barely moving before dissipating.

On the seat next to Abby laid her backpack, stuffed inside a few files she took from the office. She might be headed towards her house early, that didn't mean she wouldn't bring her work back home with her. The revelation that Donalds might not be their killer, or at least didn't sexually abuse them, made her turn so fast, the world was a blur for several seconds as she sought recognition. Garcia and Abby turned his entire life upside down, looking at every possible person who could have done it. Before going home, Garcia joked that she could write an autobiography about him. There were three suspects now, next to Donalds. The blonde technical analyst had found an unregistered sex offender in the area and it seemed like he was in contact with Donalds. Then there was the uncle, their mother's brother, a bit of a shady man, also a drunk, criminal record, but they weren't completely sure he had done it. Third, there was Donalds' friend, George Baker. Baker worked at the same mall and Hotch and the team had found out that he used Donalds' car sometimes. All good leads, but so far, they lead to nowhere.

All this sudden movement in their case had delayed Abby's schedule and she hadn't found the time to take a look at Calvin Garret's case. Reid had sunk his teeth in the case as well and they had short contact over the phone. She would call him later that night, after she had taken a good and thorough look at it. She knew there was something about it that told them where to look. While exiting the city and heading towards Dumfries, she was sure Miles would already be there. She had sent him a spare key the moment she got one and she imagined him sitting on her couch, watching the view through the large windows. No one would be able to escape the magical attraction the view held on anyone. Not even Miles, whom preferred a view that came from a thirty-two inch computer screen, or several.

The disappearance of Harry Bones hadn't brought anything new to the table. Abby was glad that Prentiss had dug into the case so she wouldn't have to talk to Morgan for over an hour while going over it. Their UnSub had taken Harry Bones on his way back home from school. There were no witnesses, nobody saw a thing; they didn't even know how he was kidnapped. Was there brute force or had the UnSub used his sharpened skills to lure him into the car? Was there even a car? Perhaps he had been in Donalds' house, they had no clue. The lab took forever to process the evidence, even the ones flagged as highly important. Salt Lake wasn't running very smoothly, first the trouble with the internet connection, then the issues with the team's cell phones and now the lab. Things couldn't get much worse.

Garcia had uncovered that on the side of the Great Salt Lake where Calvin Garret's body was found, over a dozen cabins had been built. There was no direct connection between those cabins and Donalds or any of the three other suspects, but she would keep looking. Abby and Reid had discussed it shortly; there was some sort of significance to that place. But what? JJ had informed Garcia and Abby that this afternoon they started searching the Lake again, in the area that surrounded the dump site of Garret. So far, they had come up with nothing. The lake was too cold for the infra-red to pick up discarded bodies; their only hope was that they accidentally saw one floating around like a paper boat on the sea.

She sighed wearily as she turned the corner and slowly drove through her street. She noticed the lights were on in her house and reckoned she was right, Miles had installed himself on the couch, cup of coffee in his lap, his shirt wrinkled and partially tucked in his jeans. Bird would probably lie next to him on the sofa, a habit she had tried to get the dog to kick, but every time Miles was around, he'd invite the dog back on the piece of furniture. Abby parked the car and grabbed her bag before heading towards the house. She spotted Bird through the lower window next to the door and a figure walked towards the entrance as Abby approached it from the outside.

Before she had even set foot on the porch, the door swung open and Miles revealed himself in the door opening, his arms spread open wide, inviting her for a loving hug. Abby smiled and escaped from the world for a couple of seconds.

"Hello dearest."

"Hey Miles."

Bird barked, wanting to get his attention and she petted the dog as she kicked the door closed.

"I see you've made yourself comfortable."

The kitchen island was buried underneath cables, a few computer screens, Miles' laptop, boxes with security camera's still inside and a brand new computer.

"Well, a friend of mine once said her house was my house."

Abby smirked at his comment and joined him at the kitchen island.

"How's Louis?"

"She's fine."

When he spoke, it didn't look like she, or him for that matter, was fine, but she could hear from the tone in his voice that he didn't want to talk about it. She decided to drop the matter and followed him with her eyes.

"How's the case coming along?"

She took at seat on the bar stool and rubbed her face.

"Oh man, we're chasing our own friggin' tails. Right now, we're not even sure if he's done it in the first place."

"What does your gut tell you?"

"That he's one nasty pig. That he's in on it."

"Always trust your instincts."

"Wasn't that what that friend of yours always said?"

"Yeah. She's a complete lunatic, crazy as hell, but she has her moments."

Miles glanced in her direction and smiled. If they hadn't been together each step of their growing up, she might have fallen for him. They had talked about it, several times, but they couldn't think of the idea of being together other than how they already were.

"I'm glad you're here Miles."

"Me too. It's been ages since we've actually seen each other. If you don't count talking to a webcam."

"Yeah, I know. It's been a little crazy."

"Have you heard from the rest?"

Abby shook her head and took the transparent, crystal like glass from her friend. She didn't ask what was in it, Miles had been a bartender in a previous life. If he handed her a drink, she knew it contained alcohol. And she knew it was good.

"Cuba emails every week, Lewy called a couple of times. Other than that, not much."

"And Wills?"

He looked at her again from under his brows, seductive to the right person, caring to Abby.

"Nope. Nothing."

She snorted briefly.

"Wasn't really expecting it either. I mean, she's my boss."

"Yeah but, she wasn't really a boss. I mean, bosses don't take their team out for a dinner or a drink and they definitely don't invite you to Sunday's lunch."

"That was before Harrison was killed."

"Still. She's like the mother bird of the team. She took care of everybody, Wills wasn't just a boss. She was a friend as well."

Abby shrugged and continued taking sips from her definitely alcohol saturated drink.

"I don't know."

"So, how's the B.A.U. treating you?"

"They're okay."

"Just okay?"

She laughed at his expression and he took a seat next to her, his knees touching her leg, leaning on the counter with one arm. As long as she remembered Miles, he always wore light coloured shirts, tucked behind the waistband of his jeans on several different places, making him look rather sloppy. Truth was, Miles never cared for the outside. The inside was what intrigued him.

"It's weird, y'know. I got so used to being part of the team, being an overly well used asset. They are still watching the way the cat jumps, so to speak. It's as if they're still waiting for me to trip over my own shoelaces and fall flat on my face."

"That would have been a great sight."

"Shut up."

Nonetheless, they both laughed once picturing it in their minds.

"Wait till they find out what a freak you are, they'll look you up in a cage and experiment on you."

Abby laughed again and smacked Miles on the arm. He was the only one that knew about her daily visits to the so called night train. She thought he would be scared to death and run off. Instead, he sat a little closer and asked how it worked, what it was like. No one had ever shared such an interested in Abby as Milo did. It wasn't the reason why she loved him, it just made her feel special and worthy. And loved. If there was one thing Miles excelled in, it was showing people that he loved them.

"What's it like back home?"

He let the distance between them grow and leant back, staring at his drink. She knew this language, she had struck a nerve and he had to find the right words without cutting himself wide open.

"It's different. I mean, it wasn't like we had been given a head's up, no. One day you're at work, working a case. The next you don't show up and your desk is cleaned out by Todd from Maintenance. Wills wouldn't explain what was going on so I went to David. You know, I always hated the guy, but he wasn't happy about the transfer. There was something going on. I tried to figure it out, but I can't get anything out of them. Wills still won't talk about it. I don't know whether that's out of guilt or because she hates it as much as we did. Lewy finally got her tongue pierced, it looks good on her, I must say. Friday night drinking night is like watching the grass grow, Cuba was insanely grumpy the first week. But I guess that everything does come to its end. After some time, it just became normal that you weren't there anymore. Yeah, we missed you, but I don't know. We got used to it I guess."

"Life goes on Miles."

"Yeah. Yeah, Frankie, it does."

He smiled meekly before running a hand through her hair and placing a kiss on her head. Then he stood up and took her through the process of creating an imperturbable fortress, Bird watching amused.

---

23.44

Abby and Miles sat in the floor in front of the couch, a bottle of tequila in-between them, passed around like a food tray at a fancy dinner. Both intoxicated by the great taste of the tequila, laughing, grabbing sides and stomachs in enjoyed pain, Abby spilling ash on her floor. The security system was all set up, Miles even installed the cameras outside already, conquering the darkness and pouring rain. Whilst wiping her tears away and recovering from the story Miles told, she realised something.

"Hey, what are you doing here anyway?"

"Right now I'm getting exceptionally drunk with my best friend."

"No, no, I mean here, today, don't you have a case or something?"

"Oh, that. We solved a kidnapping couple of days ago and then hopped on the plain to another missing person's case. We came back yesterday and today was actually our paperwork day. I don't know, Wills had something to do, I don't know. She was called early in the morning, told us to make ourselves useful (Abby started laughing at that) and that she would be back in a couple of days. I don't know, whatever."

They both chuckled and Abby stole the almost empty bottle from Miles' grasp, who cried out indignantly.

"The great Milo Bronckovic, on desk duty."

"Why do you think I ran to you?"

She laughed again, tilted her head back and laughed. Heartily and happily. Before they knew it, they were caught up in another one of their giggle fits and any attempts to talk were quickly forgotten. Slowly calming down, Abby dried her eyes and handed Miles the bottle.

"I need to tell you something."

"Okay."

"But you have to promise, you'll never ever hold it against me, nor repeat it to anyone, not even yourself."

"Okay."

"I'm serious Miles."

"Me too. For as far as I can be."

"Stop laughing, okay, okay. There is this guy, that I work with-"

"Don't tell me it's your boss."

"No, no, no. No!"

She slapped him on the head and he fell backwards in his try to dodge her hand.

"It's someone else."

"Okay. Go on."

"He's uhm… Y'know, good looking."

"He's eye candy."

"Ya. So, I keep getting the feeling that he, y'know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Anyway, things have been a little weird between us, I mean, I'm trying to avoid him by hiding in the closet and he's trying to avoid me by hiding in the closet and we meet up there kind of thing, right?"

"Oh my, is that-? Frankie is in love."

"No, I'm not! Shut up. I'm never telling you anything anymore! Ever!"

Miles cried out with laughter and returned the smack, hitting her on the back of the head.

"You've told me that so many times and still, here we are!"

"This time I'm serious."

"You always say that."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, you do. But, so, what, he's into you?"

"I don't know, he isn't wearing a sign 'Hé I'm into you'."

"Perhaps it's written on his ass."

There was a moment of silence, both realizing the low quality of the joke, their eyes locked and intertwined and they burst into laughter again.

"Stop, I wasn't finished yet. Okay, so yesterday, he calls me and it's all weird between us. This morning it turns out that he called his best friend-"

"The technical analyst, right? What's her name again?"

"Garcia."

"Right."

"Right, so, he called her and asked if I was okay. I don't know what this guy wants or is after. Why would he call her if I'm alright?"

"Perhaps he's worried or something."

"What do you mean?"

"They have no idea what you did with SCU, maybe he wanted to make sure you could handle the case or something."

"I don't know. He said I sounded a bit off."

"That's not unusual."

Bird looked up startled as another wave of shrieking, cackling, chuckling and giggling filled the room.

---

06.58

Abby had trouble opening her eyes. It was as if someone had glued them together, a practical joke. The red light of her alarm hurt once she forced them open and she felt her pupils implode. Quickly closing her eyes again, she felt the warm arm around her waist, his nose against her back, his breathing soothing in the calm and quiet morning. Careful not to wake him, she turned around, meeting his amicable and undisturbed face. She smiled weakly and for a second, she was overwhelmed with the things she felt for Miles. The things he had done for her, the things that they had gone through together, sticking side by side, never once thinking about letting go. He had no idea how much he meant to Abby and she didn't know how to tell him. She had seen how his face fell once she mentioned Louisa. It had troubled her and she had wanted to ask, but if he wanted to talk about it, he would tell her. It was an unwritten rule, you didn't push. Only if their lives depended on it.

"Morning."

His voice was hoarser than ever, sounding like his nose was stuffy.

"I didn't know you were awake."

"I usually get up for work around this hour."

"Please, don't talk about that yet."

"Sorry."

"That's great Miles. Now I have to get out because I was once again reminded of work."

"I'm really sorry Frankie."

"Of course you are."

"Don't you have to shower?"

"Nah, couple more minutes."

"I could go with Bird, saves you some time."

"Thanks."

"Welcome."

As her cell phone rang shrilly through the air, she grunted boisterous and growled at the device once laying her eyes upon it. She didn't even bother to check, it could only be one person.

"Cal, it's too early."

"Morning love."

"What do you want? I was asleep."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll call you back later about your killer."

"Damn it."

She cursed and looked at her display. Cal had hung up.

"Who was that?"

"Cal Lightman."

"What did he want? At this hour?"

"The usual."

"Stupid question."

Whilst talking, Abby pressed the redial button and waited for her Crazy Brit to pick up.

"Morning."

"Hey Cal."

"I thought you were asleep."

"Cal, please, it's really early and I've got a terrible hangover."

"I'll make it quick. I took a look at your tapes."

His comment caused her to sit up straight in bed within several seconds. Miles mumbled something as he complained but didn't move.

"You did? Already?"

"I know, what I wouldn't do for you."

"Well, what did you find out?"

"You were right, he didn't molest those boys. He's in on it already, but he's pretty confident. He also knows where your kid is."

"Damn it, I knew it. Son of bitch."

Throwing out words Cal probably never heard of, she got out of bed and headed towards the shower.

"Can you tell me something else?"

"Not much besides what you really know. He's pretty arrogant, alpha male, angry dude."

"So, whomever is his partner, it's got to be someone he trusts, truly trusts, right?"

Abby thoughts went to Baker, Donalds' friend. If he let him drive his car, he must have trusted him.

"Cal, you're the greatest, thank you so much."

"You're welcome. Oh, it's seven."

"Seven what?"

"Seven o'clock."

She remained silent, not following the man on the other end of the phone.

"Thanksgiving."

"Yeah. Gotcha. Seven."

"See you then love."

"Ya."

Cal hung up without a goodbye, as he always did. Abby stared into space for a couple of seconds and then heard Miles loudly coming out of her bed.

"Great. Just fucking great."

---

07.51

Quick, hurried and long paces echoed through the hall towards the Behavioural Analysis Unit, the sound of her shoes reverberating against the light, pale buff walls inside the F.B.I. Academy. The halls were quiet and deserted; it was too early. As she approached the large glass doors, she pressed the two cups of coffee she was holding against her chest and grabbed the piece of paper she had been looking for. Abby turned the corner and saw the door that revealed Garcia's cupboard. The dark door stood open and she saw a few lights coming from the room. Garcia was early.

After she received the call from Lightman, she rang Garcia and told her about her findings. The blonde had agreed to come in early in exchange for a drink sometimes. Abby had obliged, hung up, cursed some more and smacked Miles in the head, whom had been sitting behind the kitchen island, spilling milk and cornflakes over the smooth surface while snickering. If Garcia had taken Abby's head off the moment she picked up the phone, Hotch literally crawled through the phone and shot her in the head. He didn't say much, but his voice was low, dangerous, he sounded grumpy and tired. She tried to slow down her speech, pronounce words properly, pushing the British accent back as far as she could. She failed, miserably, but on the bright side; the moment Hotch registered what Abby was saying and that he indeed had a partner which meant that Harry Bones' chances of being alive just increased dramatically, he was his old self again; adamant, austere.

He has a partner. He has a partner. He has a partner. She kept repeating the sentence in her head, over and over again. Sometimes, the sentence would sound stupid, as if she needed, as if _they_ needed Cal Lightman to confirm what they already knew. The profile didn't fit him, the flash of veneer when the sexual abuse was mentioned; she should have followed her instincts. They all should have. Why relay on a man that was a walking and talking lie detector, had an issue with trust and trusting and wasn't able to be in any kind of normal, sane relationship? Then the next time she said the words out loud in her head, it was childish, excited, tensed and nervous; a kid getting to ride a bike for the first time. Other times it sounded dangerous, a low, peril growl from depth within the darkness. Their UnSub had been two steps ahead of them. Now, finally, they were catching up.

"Morning."

"Morning."

Their greetings more casual than usual. Garcia sat behind her desk, her face already in front of three different computer screens, her fingers already flying over the keyboard.

_He has a partner._

---

08.39

"What do you mean he's not there?"

Morgan was on the phone, despite the crazy early hour, sounding awake and ready. Thanks to JJ's press conference the day before, a woman had come forward claiming to have seen Donalds and Baker outside the Valley Fair Mall, arguing shortly after Andy Jones had been taken from that same mall.

"Baby cakes, he is not here. Looks like somebody hasn't been here in a couple of days."

Garcia glanced in Abby's direction. She didn't really pay attention, she was staring at the white board, the maze she had created, all loose ends. She needed the chemical adhesion to make it stick together and not fall apart.

"Has he showed up for work?"

As Garcia swivelled back in her chair toward the computer screen, she spoke, biting down on the end of a pen.

"No."

"So that means he's either dead, gone or with the boy."

"That great. Way to cheer me up Frankie."

"Sorry."

Abby snickered as she spoke and leant into Garcia's direction.

"Is there anything, anything at all that helps us catch him? He could have taken the boy with him and then we'll never find him."

Her smile faltered and she stared at the white board again. Garcia opened her mouth to speak but the muffled sounds coming from the phone caused her to pause. They both stared at the phone, sometimes small words reaching their ears but they didn't make any sense.

"Guys."

"Yeah."

The blonde's voice was small and humble and Abby couldn't help to sink her teeth into her lower lip.

"Lab just confirmed, Harry Bones was in Donalds' house. They also found traces of Calvin Garret, Andy Jones and Felix Anderson."

"Have you hustled the brother yet?"

"Yeah, yesterday, burst into tears. There's something else. We think we found where the boys were transported in, we don't know what it is yet, some sort of plastic."

"Plastic?"

The rest of Garcia's and Morgan's conversation faded. Her eyes found the faded colours from a still from one of the video's JJ sent. Donalds sat in the chair, Morgan and Hotch opposite of him, his right hand loosely placed on the table, the other in his lap, one leg swung over the other. Composed. Relaxed. Calm.

The echo of the piercing scream coming from the night train hurt her ears and she winched, resisting the urge to cover her ears. The fog made it hard to breath, the smoke stung her eyes and caused them to water. The thin, bone-y, black hands with just as deep dark claws were extended in her direction, asking for her to come along and enjoy the ride. Their eyes were hidden behind the thick layer of mist, the night train and the monsters the only things still visible. They called out to her, welcoming her, inviting her aboard their world. 'Come out, come out', they said, 'Come out wherever you are. We've got something to tell you'. A shade came from behind and harshly pushed against her shoulder. Abby lost her balance and she felt herself fall in the grey fog, unable to bear any surroundings.

She was grabbed by a firm hand and suddenly, the colours returned, bright and vibrant in themes of pink, red and yellow. She was back on her chair, her eyes still fixed on Arnold Donalds. She swung around to meet the person that had awoken her.

"What planet were you on?"

Garcia's voice was meaner, not something she was familiar with. The technical analyst turned back to the screens and Abby followed her with her eyes, startled to meet several pairs that were looking at her.

"Are you okay?"

Prentiss' voice was hesitant and the look on her face was a mixture of saddened curiosity and concern.

"Yeah."

She knew she was rapped with her answer, she knew they wouldn't really believe it. Garcia's comment didn't help her either.

"She's been kinda out of it lately. Nothing a good hit on the head won't fix."

Abby glanced in her direction and returned her gaze back upon the screen, just in time to see Morgan flash a troubled look in Hotch's direction. So he was still keeping an eye on her. Great.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"We need to find George Baker."

Rossi replied, his voice and face neutral, not disturbed by the happenings. Abby did her best to return to her normal self, but the spawns of evil sunk their claws in her ankles and started pulling. She was close, so close, she could feel it on the tip of her fingers, the words laid ready and formed in her mouth. Garcia kept typing, one program popping open after the other in her search for Baker.

"Has he said anything new?"

"He's sure that we won't find the boy."

JJ shook her head at Abby as she talked, her eyes meeting Hotch's for a split second. Abby sometimes forgot that behind those agents, a worried parent always laid lurking around. This case must call upon such horrifying thoughts.

"But how?"

The young genius looked up from his file and whilst Rossi answered him, he pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

"Great Salt Lake is a pretty big area. He may be right, we may never find him."

"No, he's too confident for that."  
"What do you mean?"

Morgan spoke again, direction his attention straight towards Abby, whose eyes had found the movie still again.

"How can you be so confident? You abduct a young boy, everybody is looking for him, the F.B.I. is breathing down your neck. How do you know for sure that we won't find him?"

"He has a partner."

"He has a partner."

She repeated the sentence at least ten time, this time out loud. For an hour, she had been running that phrase up and down her head and she came up with nothing. Something was wrong with that sentence. In the split of a second, Donalds moved and looked up at the camera, grinning widely. After that second, Abby's mind regained itself and the picture returned to its normal state.

_Choo-choo!_

"He knows he can't go back. The police will tail him and we will find Bones. It must be someone he trusts, completely trusts."

"Baker."

"No. He's too confident for that, too arrogant."

"Guys."

JJ's voice interrupted the conversation and Reid, Rossi and Abby looked at the gorgeous agent.

"The fabric that was found in the lake, it was definitely used to transport Calvin Garret, they found traces. Lab also confirms it's tarpaulin."

_Tarpaulin._

The hands pulled her down with force abruptly and she stood face to face with the dark shade. His eyes were piercing and profound, stripping her from any movement and skinning her down to her thoughts. He opened his mouth but nothing but a high pitched peep came out of it.

"Garcia."

"Tarpaulin, looking."

Reid spoke before Abby could, still dazzled with her trip back to the train, stupefied.

"It's used for truck covering."

"It's the brother. He works at Sharp's Tarp's, truck covering. They use tarpaulin. Garcia, where is the brother, Michael?"

Prentiss leant forward on the desk, staring directly into the cam, waiting anxiously for Garcia to give her the information they needed.

"He should be at work but he called in sick yesterday."

"Anywhere else?"

"I'm looking."

"George Baker. Garcia, focus on George Baker."

She stopped typing and her eyes found Abby's, seemingly confused and disorientated. Abby remained calm even though adrenaline spread through her body in a rapid speed.

"The cabin, does he has any ties?"

Seconds passed by slowly, like thick raindrop gliding down a window. Inside Garcia's cupboard it was silent and quiet, the silence broken apart by a constant clatter of nails coming down on the keyboard.

"Bingo! George Baker has an ex-wife, she owns a cabin near the lake, sending the coordinates right now."

"Good work Garcia!"

---

09.45

She was staring at the clock, fascinated by the way the hands could move so slow, the ticking sound penetrating her ears, shaking her bones with every tick. For once, Garcia's computers were silent, her hands resting on her desk, folded into each other. Both of them didn't speak, they allowed the invading silence to steal their ability to speak. Abby played with a pencil in her hands, the end constantly bouncing up and down her fingers. Garcia's large red earrings made a small sound that reverberated through the air as she turned her head. Whilst Abby intensively stared at the clock, trying to use her will power to make it go faster, she heard Garcia's mouth open and close again, a small gasp of air in-between the action.

"Things always make sense afterwards."

"That sucks."

"I know."

"What do you think they're doing right now?"

Abby let her imagination take control and she pictured Morgan in the black SUV, one hand on the steering wheel, his muscles coming from under his sleeve. Hotch sitting next to him on the phone, directing the troops like a true general. Reid and Rossi would be silently sitting in the other car, Prentiss with them, fiddling with everything her hands would find. JJ would stay at the home front, making sure chaos didn't overtake the fortress.

The clock had no mercy as Abby glanced at it again and she sighed deeply.

"They're probably on their way, they should be close."

"Did we miss him?"

Her voice was little and small, words almost afraid to be heard after escaping from her mouth.

"First of all, if anybody missed him, it was me. Secondly, you did a heck of a job."

"Really?"

"Really. But-"

"This guilt, this weight on your shoulders, it's not yours, Garcia. So I suggest you give it back because it's kind of arrogant of you to walk around with it."

Garcia smiled weakly and Abby returned the smile, her words received just like they should have. She meant every word of it and she could tell that it helped Garcia, but it only pressed down on her shoulders even more. Shortly after the team had taken off, she went over the video tapes. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she found the signs everywhere. The moment Hotch talks about his brother, how he crossed his arms and leant back, creating distance, protective. Or how she noticed the small smile around his lips when Donalds told an angry Morgan that he would never find them.

Local PD picked George Baker up shortly after Hotch and his loyal soldiers rushed out of the room. The detective that interrogated Donalds first talked to him. Baker was reluctant, but the moment detective Greg York threatened to take him down for accessory of murder, he didn't know how quickly to answer York's questions. The argument that was witnessed outside the mall was about the cabin. Baker told York that his ex-wife started complaining that whilst it was her cabin, she had no access to it because he was always using it. Baker claims to have no idea what the Donalds' were doing. Greg York was rather young for a homicide detective, but the moment that he told her that he didn't trust it, she gave him directions to crack Baker. He called back ten minutes later, informing her that he was indeed part of it. He confessed he knew of Lex Thomas, Mark Smith and Calvin Garret. Baker swore, however, that he had nothing to do with their murder or dumping the bodies.

She should feel happy, the team was en route to Harry Bones and would arrest Michael Donalds. A child molester and a murderer behind bars, a missing child found. Abby couldn't help, however, to look up at the white board and wonder if she would ever find those other five missing boys. Kyle Davis walked right past Donalds' house, crying. Michael would have invited him inside, offer lemonade and cookies. He wouldn't have been able to help himself, one thing led to the other. Kyle Davis would have most likely cried himself to sleep and when he woke up again, Arnold was there. The kid did what any child of his age would do and started crying again, screaming. This would upset Arnold's enough to try to make him stop, a pillow the first thing within reach.

Lex Thomas and Mark Smith were both taken from the park near the Donalds' residence. Michael drove past it every day to and from work. After Kyle, things would have been easier, the lust would have been raging around in his body having tasted freedom. Lex Thomas had been an easy mark, only six years old. Lemonade and cookies would still steal his trust before he got into the car. Mark Smith would have been harder to lurk to his house. So far, they had no idea how Michael had done it. Arnold mentioned that he was crazy about trucks, perhaps a few words about his miniature truck collection would cause those children to step into the car and ride towards their own death.

Same would count for Arnold. After killing Kyle Davis, his hands would itch and he would long for that feeling again. Perhaps he experimented on the boys, with or without pillow, using his hands to cover the boy's small mouths, bringing them back before finally ending it. The horror crept over Abby's skin and she found herself thinking that this time, her thoughts went too far. She blocked the ideas from her head right in time. Garcia flew towards the phone as it rang; the sound feeble in the still air.

"Did you find him?"

"No. Michael's here, but Harry Bones isn't with him. He claims that the kid must have escaped, the front door was unlocked."

She was too nervous to react to hearing his voice, but the thought that she should have, crossed her mind briefly. _Stupid_.

"Do you have choppers in the air?"

"They're on their way."

"Garcia, pull up a map of the Great Salt Lake."

Abby mingled into the conversation and her eyes scanned the large lake on the map that appeared on the screen.

"Morgan, look around, do you see anything at all? A road, signs, anything. Do you hear anything?"

"No. I only see the lake."

"There's no road?"

"No."

"What's the direction of the wind?"

"Coming from the south-west."

"Okay, walk north, the wind in your back."

"You sure?"

The blonde looked freighted, her eyes open and wide, her mouth formed a thin line on her pretty face.

"Yeah. He's eight years old, he would know to look for roads or signs but when you don't see it, it's real easy to be pushed into a direction by a natural force."

"He would be running, that's easier if you go along with the flow."

"I hope you're right."

"Yeah, me too."

Seconds passed slowly as if someone glued the hands of the clock and it tried desperately to move forward. She resisted the urge to smack the device and help it. Instead, the present static rustled in the small room was like little pens jabbing into her skin. All the while the other end of the phone remained silent.

---

_"Everything you have heard told, everything you have read returns to your mind, as if you were being transported, not toward heaven, but toward hell. Under torture you say not only what the inquisitor wants, but also what you imagine might please him, because a bond (this, truly, diabolical) is established between you and him."_

Umberto Eco


	5. Towards a future

_"The moments of the past do not remain still; they retain in our memory the motion which drew them towards the future, towards a future which has itself become the past, and draw us on in their train."_

Marcel Proust

---

10.01

Waiting. A period of wanting, waiting; pause, interval or delay. Serving or being in attendance. Waiting. Cruelty upon a stranger, an innocent person, temporarily pausing his or her life, awaiting; as if the world really stood still and nobody moved and awaited the result. An interval; quiet torture that we all endure to finally reach our destination, that what we waited for. Delay; arrogant and rancorous, careless about emotions or feeling, blind to the suffering. Heinous, monstrous, diabolical, devilish. Time was precious, time was something you never had enough of and yet there they sat, quietly, solemnly, waiting. Waiting and time were two completely different elements, like night and day, incongruous. They were both too afraid to speak, words would make the situation real, or at least realistic enough for the amount of time they had been sitting and hoping. Harry Bones' life hung in the balance and they could only watch and wait, as if observing a theatre show. They were the audience, the puppets, applauding when needed, gasping for air in fear at the right time.

The thought of how Garcia had done it for all those years briefly crossed Abby's mind. Just by thinking of spending her time here, in this cupboard, whilst the rest of the team was _out there_, running and flying, kicking down doors, asking names and taking down UnSubs. How could she sit here in this dark room that was almost too desperately brightened with average, ordinary things, watching the spectacle unfold and not be an active part of it? She guessed that Garcia was a part of it, in her own way. The blonde had mentioned that she was definitely not cut out for the job of a profile upon watching Abby work. By then, their relationship had been too fragile for Abby to ask further hence she let the matter float between them. Her entire life had been marked with and by action, there was always something going on, her life always needed a steady hand to put it back in the right course. It was how she loved it; she didn't know a life without the constant thrill. Perhaps it was the reason why she joined the Army, and later the F.B.I. She needed to work, to sweat and to shake in profound danger.

She admired the young computer tech. Abby flashed a short smile at the shadows in the room as she remembered that the thought had crossed her mind before. But she did, she couldn't help it. Garcia was full of life. Abby wondered, if the blonde would ever get caught or kidnapped, how the person that did it would end up. She knew for sure that Garcia had a spirit nobody could break. And she envied that, just as much as she knew that the same spirit would often cause trouble for the bright woman.

"Why did Morgan call you?"

Garcia had been staring at the phone ever since Morgan hung up. There was nothing they could do except to wait and pray. Both were things Abby certainly did not excel in.

"What?"

Dazzled and confused, torn away from her inner battle with the phone, the tech looked at Abby.

"Why did Morgan call you?"

As Abby she repeated the question, she wondered why she was asking, why she even bothered.

"I told you, he's worried. You've been hot and cold, on and off, in and out of it lately."

"Lately?"

"Yeah. Y'know, with the case."

"So why didn't Hotch called me."

This question caused Garcia to smile gently.

"He would never do that. Besides, he asked-"

Penelope's mouth suddenly stopped moving and her eyes widened.

"Oops."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Hotch asked Morgan to keep an eye on me, I already knew that."

"You did."

"Garcia, I'm not stupid."

"Right."

She turned and rotated the turning chair so she could look at the dark brunette.

"You know it's a rule not to profile your team."

It wasn't a question and Garcia almost stated it 'matter of fact-ly'. The tone of her voice caused Abby to look up at the woman, a confused expression on her face, brows knitted together but slightly raised, as in surprise.

"Okay, first of all, I didn't profile anybody. Yeah, first impressions, last I checked, I'm allowed to think about my colleagues and what I think of them or how I feel about them. Secondly, it's really not that hard to figure out that Morgan is being the protective guard dog. Any five year old could have noticed the looks. Ya? And besides, they profiled me. If there really is that rule, they broke it first."

"So you did profile them?"

"No."

"You said 'they broke it first'."

Abby stared at Garcia for a few seconds and then laughed.

"I thought you said you weren't a profiler."

"I'm not."

"You're paying attention to what I'm saying."

"Any normal, decent person does that."

"Right."

Garcia sent her a playful look and flashed a wicked grin to which Abby could only shake her head and she rolled her eyes.

Silence approached them from behind and crawled up their backs again, like an invader that pushed the barrel of a gun against your back, overwhelming them and they were once again reminded that they were the toys and somebody else was playing with them.

"No news is good news, right?"

Abby shrugged and swivelled her chair to look at her white board, wondering if there was anything that she could have missed that told them where Harry Bones was or the other five missing bodies. She rose from her chair and walked over to the large board and her eyes dissected the words she had written down and encircled. She was a cat and there were mice in her brain, following the trail of cheese that were supposed to be _her_ clues and solutions. The mice ate her resolutions, laughing while they did it and now she was hunting them down, chasing them down the long corridors of her mind, jumping through the shadows of her thoughts. She had no idea where she was nor where she was going, but as long as she followed the mice, they would lead her _somewhere_. Abby was wrong. Suddenly, the fog dissipated and she crashed into the walls of her head. Mice never lead you anywhere. Night trains did.

Michael Donalds. Lack of social skills, low self-esteem, situational paedophile, shy, withdrawn, helpful and trust worthy. Arnold Donalds. Arrogant, God complex, estranged from the world and situation, aggressive and dangerous. None of these characteristics held any indication of where they boys might be. Whilst Garcia was anxiously waiting to hear from Morgan to know if they found Harry Bones, Abby was somehow convinced that they would find him and more worried about the rest of the boys, five missing bodies, once children, alive and innocent. Where were they? Would Donalds ever tell them?

The phone rang and Garcia jumped several feet in the air, startling both herself and Abby. She quickly pressed the speaker button as Abby took a seat next to her on the desk.

"Tell me you found him."

"We got him, he's alright, he's alright."

"Oh, thank God."

"Reid found him, he was walking around the lake."

"Any signs of abuse or trauma?"

Abby's and Garcia's eyes locked together, the blonde still covering her mouth with her hands.

"Couple of bruises, he looks okay. He's talking, responsive. We're hoping that with Donalds getting caught, nothing happened to him yet."

Both women sighed in relief and Abby nodded to herself.

"Hotch's still at the station, talking to Donalds. Good call guys."

"Hé, you guys are the heroes. Give Reid a big hug from me."

"Will do princess."

"HQ over and out."

As soon as she ended to call, Garcia exclaimed a victory scream and hugged Abby partly, dancing whilst she did it.

"Wow, wow, Garcia, chill woman."

"They found him! They found him."

"Ya, I know. Can you let go please."

"Sorry."

She sat down in her chair again and stared at Abby, a huge grin still painted on her face.

"They found him."

"Ya."

"They found him!"

"Ya."

They found Harry Bones. Abby would have been happy if it wasn't for one thing. Five names.

Kyle Davis. Six. Missing.

Lex Thomas. Six. Missing.

Mark Smith. Seven. Missing.

Felix Anderson. Seven. Missing.

Andy Jones. Eight. Missing.

All presumed dead. Where could she find the _victory_ in that?

---

18.14

"First time you kissed a boy?"

"Uhm. I was about eleven, twelve or something."

"Seriously?"

"Ya. Ever been secretly married?"

"God no. Ever had a crush on your teacher?"

"Actually yeah, eight grade, my Math teacher."

Abby sat relaxed in her chair, the furniture pushed backwards under the weight of Abby's torso as she leant back. Her feet were placed upon her desk before her and she was slowly drinking from a bottle of water. Garcia sat opposite of her, behind Morgan's desk, leaning back as well, her feet also popped up on the desk in front of her, casually playing the game 'Twenty-one questions'. Hotch had called a few hours ago, informing them that they were already on the plane. Neither of the two brothers would talk about the five other missing boys but detective Greg York would regularly visit prison, determined to find out where they were.

The lab tech and the profiler had finished all their paperwork and Abby had cleaned up Garcia's cupboard, restoring it to back into its natural state; no pictures of missing boys upon the wall, no evil words encircled on the white board, no photos of dead Calvin Garret, no paper snippets and case files everywhere. Abby had to push back the knife of thoughts that entered her mind once she started to remove the pictures. Garcia was too busy writing her reports and emailing with Kevin Lynch to notice Abby's hesitation to put the boys away in a box. She may have been sceptical and a tad offended that Hotch – or rather Morgan – was keeping an eye on her still, but he had been right. This case did do something to Abby. The imagination of being missing was strangely reminiscent and the fact that she hadn't found those boys portrayed a feeling she read of someone's face a long time ago. Yet, she knew, this was different.

Truth be told, she was rather glad that she wasn't in Salt Lake. She had a hard time dealing with the victim's families as it were, but she wouldn't know how to handle the mothers of those boys or walking away from Salt Lake without any answers. Abby remembered her first missing person's case vividly. It was during her time at CIRG, the Critical Incident Response Group at the F.B.I., a ten year old girl and her thirteen year old brother had run away from the father. Their parents had divorced a few months ago and the father had created a drinking habit. The brother feared for his sister's safety and they took off in the middle of the night, going back to their mother. The mother had been so scared, so worried, her image was still imprinted on Abby's brain. They had found the children, a couple of days later. The mother got sole custody and afterwards, they laughed about it. But Abby had seen the terror in the mother's eyes, the tears that wouldn't stop streaming down her cheeks. She had been desperate, close to going insane, and that emotion left deep scars in Abby's mind.

"Ever cheated on your boyfriend?"

"If you don't count looking and grabbing other men's asses, tempted, but no. You ever hacked into the school's system to change your grades?"

Garcia laughed and a mischievous shade fell over her eyes.

"Not to change my grades."

"But you did hack into your school's computer system?"

"I needed an address and phone number on a guy that I liked."

"No way!"

They stopped chuckling as Abby's phone rang and her smile faded gradually when she looked at the display. She gestured to Garcia she had to take the call and raised her finger as if saying 'one minute'.

"Miles, dearest of friends, what's up?"

"Dinner in candle light or roses?"

"Uhm.."

She swirled the chair around several times before answering.

"Both. First, the roses, to ease the wounds and then the dinner to lick them closed."

"God, you're good."

"I know, should have became a relationship therapist."

"Right, because you're so great in keeping a relationship."

"I am an expert on them though. Keeping them, that's another department."

"You are so right. So, Thai food or Chinese?"

"Thai food."

"Scented candles?"

"Vanilla. No. Lavender."

Abby caught Garcia's strange looks and made a face towards the technical analyst, whom in her return smiled.

"Woman, I owe you."

"Get in line. So, are you going to tell me what you did?"

Miles paused briefly before replying.

"We had an argument."

"About what?"

"Overtime."

This time, it was Abby's turn to be silent. Miles and Louisa had known each other for four years. She knew about his work, about the horror and the case load, the pressure on their shoulders, about the hours. There could only be one reason why she would complain about overtime.

"Look, Frankie, we had a few leads, good leads. But, as usual…"

"Yeah. I know. Listen, go home, seduce your fiancé, have mind blowing sex and make it up to her, okay?"

Miles chuckled amused and Garcia raised her eyebrows.

"Will do, thanks."

"Welcome. And, thank you."

"Welcome. But, still, consider it gratitude or something like it, I left you a present."

"You did? Well, what is it?"

"That's the whole point of a present."

She used her best childish voice as she spoke and fidgeted with a button of her blouse.

"Thank you Miles."

"Oh, hé, how did the case go, you found the boy?"

"Yeah, one of them, he's still alive."

"And the others?"

Abby noticed Garcia's glare but ignored it. She wasn't sure if it was a warning glare or that she was naturally curious to know who Abby was talking to.

"Dust in the wind."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, me too."

"Okay, I will call you tomorrow and I will see you again, soon."

"Okay love, see ya."

"Bye."

"If that is 'just' your best friend, you'll end up old, lonely, and single, owning twenty cats at least."

Abby had hung up and immediately Garcia swivelled her chair to look at her. She opened her mouth to speak, words, sentences and phrases ready to explain her odd yet extraordinary relationship with Milo Bronckovic, already laughing, when the thick glass doors of the Behavioural Analysis Unit opened and a small group of remarkable and exhausted people walked in. Abby witnessed how small smiles formed on their faces, happy to see their home and be on familiar territory. She could also see a few deep and hidden frowns, mostly on Hotch and Rossi, the knowledge of five bodies rotting away somewhere they didn't know hanging inside their minds like a notice board. Morgan's eyes scanned the room shortly, a hint of joy on his face once upon laying his eyes on his best friend. He noticed Abby and his smile faded slightly as his eyes took her in, probably calculating how deeply the case had affected her, confused as seeing her smile and laugh.

Garcia had followed Abby's eyes and she turned, rising quickly from the chair when she saw the team.

"Ah, my doves, you're home again."

She opened her arms and invited Morgan for a warm hug, one he gladly received as the rest echoed their hello's.

"I see you've taken my spot."

"Only warming it up for you."

"I wish you warmed my seat Garcia."

" Oh, Frankie took care of that."

Prentiss cried out loudly as she reached her desk and discovered the large mug filled with coffee on her desk. Quickly, she dropped her go-bag and reached for the steamy, hot liquid.

"Oh man, Frankie, I think I love you."

JJ laughed at Prentiss' comment and took the dark blue mug from Garcia's extended hand.

"Welcome."

Reid grabbed his own cup and sat down on Abby's desk. Rossi and Hotch walked past her wooden work place but she stopped them quickly with a small shout, raising two mugs in the air.

"A welcomed welcome home present, thanks Scott."

"Figured you could use a shot of caffeine."

"Much appreciated."

Rossi raised his mug and smiled at her. After she handed Hotch his coffee, she turned to the genius sitting behind her, friendly smacking his upper leg.

"How does it feel to be a superhero?"

"You've been hanging out with Garcia for too long."

"Don't start, please. Got anything out of Donalds."

"No. After he found out we found Harry Bones he refused to talk. Same goes for Michael, they're not talking."

"We might never find those boys."

Abby glanced at Hotch and met his eyes, their mutual knowledge transparent in his eyes.

"At least you found Harry Bones. Alive."

Garcia nudged Morgan and made him smile weakly as he sipped on his coffee.

"Yeah. At least one good thing came out of it."

"Thank God Michael was too messed up about the fact that his brother had been arrested to do anything to the boy too."

The team looked at JJ, their eyes briefly taking her expression in. The air between them was ambivalently undecided. JJ was right; it was a good thing that Harry Bones returned home with 'only minor' issues to work out later. However, none of them could shake the idea of five missing boys still unfound. Suddenly, Rossi looked down on Abby, amused line around his lips.

"So, just best friend or potential husband?"

Abby laughed loudly and chuckled.

"Best friend, definitely."

The rest of the team felt smiles quickly running over their faces and Garcia took her turn to mingle in and animatedly took the team through the last couple of days and the 'adventures in the cupboard'.

---

19.19

Abby reached Hotch' office, her footsteps diminished by the carpet underneath her feet, inimical echoes reverberating through the air. She knocked a couple of times on the door before opening it and revealing herself in the doorframe. A tired, but mostly memories bound man looked up at her, his eyes darker than usual, his mien more austere.

"Hey."

Her voice was soft and soothing, smiling meekly as she remained in the doorway.

"Hey. Come in."

Abby closed the door behind her and smoothly made her way to the chair in front of Hotch' desk. Instead of sitting down, she pushed her hands down on the back of the chair and leant down.

"What's wrong?"

The brunette snorted at his question and ruminated about people's mind and drawing wrong conclusions based on wrongfully apprehended information.

"Nothing is wrong."

She raised her eyebrows sharply emphasize her words and sat down.

"I can handle your cases, Hotch."

The man in front of her looked at her, took her in for a second and laid his pen down.

"I know-"

She cut him off, rudely and abruptly, making sure there was no room for misunderstandings.

"First case I work with SCU was a brutal breaking and entering, really nasty. The perp" – she paused shortly- "or UnSub, entered houses, killed the men, raped the children before killing them and then tortured the women. Whenever I think back of that case, I can't help to remember the smell of the first house Miles, my partner, took me. I remember it like it was yesterday; irony, drenched in blood. You'll never forget the stench of rotting corpses. That night, I got drunk, trashed my hotel room and the next morning I solved the case, a case they had been working on for nine days. I slept like a baby that night."

Hotch had folded his hands together and placed them on his desk, his expression curious and patient.

"Couple of weeks later, we were working this case, a man stalked young girls, drove them crazy, even raped a couple before killing them and hung their bodies from their ceilings. Have you ever walked into a room, ready to shoot the son of a bitch, adrenaline pumping, finally catching the guy you had been chasing for days, only to find a pair of long dead eyes staring down on you? We caught the guy two days later, he turned out to be a student, went to some of the victim's classes, knew some of the girls. I've seen a lot in a short period of time with the SCU agent Hotchner. I'm not saying I've seen everything and I'm definitely not saying that I've seen more or more horrendous things than you or the rest of the team. But I've seen a lot of things. I can handle myself, I don't want somebody watching over my shoulders trying to figure out whether I'm crying or just concentrating. I've had my share of shrinks and observers and they all agreed; I can take very good care of myself. So I would appreciate it if you called Morgan off my back. If there is anything, anything at all, I'll seek help."

"I assume you'll come to me when there is something."

Abby bobbed her head down once, nodding in agreement.

"Half your file is classified. I wonder if you can disagree that it's a little worrying."

She was silent for a while, losing a staring battle with her supervisor.

"I reckon I wasn't supposed to find out that most of your file is a secret."

"Not really, no."

"You already have an impressive file, it was the reason why I agreed to talk to you in the first place. I can't help but think what else there could be."

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

"And it's that what worries me."

Abby bit down her lower lip and winched. She was calculation her options and so far, it didn't look that good. After a short period of time, she made up her mind and leant forward.

"Okay, so, I get it. I can understand why you told Morgan to keep an eye out, but it's highly unnecessary, I can handle it. And if I can't, I'll come to you. Deal?"

To her surprise, Hotch stared at her for a little longer before snorting and smiling halfly.

"You're a strange person Scott."

"I take that as a compliment sir, and sorry for the whole speech. I didn't want to overstep my boundaries but I just wanted to get it out."

Hotch only shrugged.

"I can appreciate it when an agent of mine speaks his or her mind. We have a deal, by the way. Just, don't expect me to lie down, I'm still curious to find out what else in your file."

She grinned sinfully and stood up, making her way over to the door whilst speaking.

"Trust me, Chief, even Penelope Garcia wouldn't be able to find out what is in that file."

"I have my ways."

"Ya. I know. So do I. Oh, and I've been cleared by the doc."

Abby received another half-hearted smile from her boss and suddenly realised that she had been fighting against acceptance from this team so fiercely, that she missed the part where they enclosed her and became a part, accepted and welcome. Hotch must have read the realization on her face because he sent her an intriguing, meaningful last look and then motioned for her to go away. She obeyed gladly and as she descended the stairs to meet up with _her_ team, she smiled secretly, not knowing that Hotch was watching her from behind the windows in his office, thinking that her new boss was actually kinda 'cool'.

Yes, she missed Atlanta, every day. She missed the fact that she still had to look where she last put her stapler, that the copying machine still didn't work after she kicked it (the one in Atlanta would work after that), that her computer still didn't respond to her shortcut keys that she had yet to install, that every morning when she came in she wouldn't be buried underneath dirty details of Cuba's latest dates or Lewy's view on the world. She hated it that she didn't have a boss anymore with whom she could mess with and she missed the pranks she and Miles often pulled on their team. She still missed the scent the train brought with it when arriving, sitting peacefully in the moving vehicle in the early morning on her way to work. She hated it that she had yet to figure out where to put her mail, and that was only after she had finally found a reason to actually understand why she was getting mail here, before acknowledging to herself that her mail would as of now be sent to the F.B.I. Academy in Quantico. She missed Miles' coffee and the funky notes that he would leave on her desk. She hadn't found a place where to put her files because the drawer she wanted to use, look too much apart from her old one and she had yet to find her own, new, Todd from Maintenance.

Her house was still cold and empty and Spartan and stark and bleak. Still not her 'home'. It didn't feel home-y and it certainly didn't look home-y. In her old apartment, many stories and secrets were buried; stains on the wall from a food fight with Miles and Cuba. The faint remembrance of wine on her new couch from the hot and steamy make out session with the guy she met at in a coffee shop. The curtains Miles once pulled from the ceiling when being under the influence of an insane amount of alcohol. The hole in the wall in the bathroom when Lewy slipped and slammed her toothbrush into to light grey painted wall. She missed it. Dearly and deeply, as if her heart had been cut out. Slowly, arteries begun to close and the bleeding stopped. Nerves found their ways back together and reconnected. It would take a long time before the hole in her chest would close, but the moment she felt a warm, friendly hand on her shoulder and she looked up at the face of one of the kindest and best human being's she had ever met, his great intelligence somehow the only thing to faintly understand her, she knew that it was going to be all right. And that she started to like this place. More than she ever thought.

Reid returned her odd smile, squeezing softly in her shoulder before she joined him in Prentiss' attempt to convince him that Kurt Vonnegut was one of the best writers out there.

---

22.24

Bird stirred and growled softly whilst he was dreaming. Smilingly, Abby looked down on him, taking a sip from her vodka tonic; heavy on the vodka, little tonic water. The lime slice added some extra flavour but Abby found it more cheerful to add the green fruit, it made it look colourful, less dangerously intoxicating. The reason why she sat on her sofa, her feet pulled up under her body, the sounds coming from the forest used as music from a radio, sipping on her merry vodka tonic, slightly tipsy, was because she was celebrating. With herself, yes. Pathetic, if only a little bit.

After they solved the Donalds case, Abby made an appointment with the doctor and was finally allowed back on duty. No more cupboards, no more Garcia talk every minute of her working hours, less and less paperwork. Much more action, more feeling, more senses used, more time on the night train. Quite frankly, she had missed her shadowed train. It had been waiting, hidden within the smoke and the fog, calling her insides, ready to have her back on it. Finally getting back on track, Abby was looking forward to it. When the time was finally there, she would wonder how she ever could have longed for the frigid chills and the claws of darkness. But it was her place, her bench in the shade where grace and vigour depart, chased away by the shadows of large wolves, those that chased the moon. There where her freedom wasn't suffocating and the constant knowledge of the cruelty of the world would be tolerated and manageable. It was her place. And she could look and spend all her time around her beloved and hated obstacle, it wasn't the same as actually boarding the train.

Suddenly, the sound of knuckles hitting hard wood echoed through the house and she glanced at the clock. Half past eleven. Just as she wanted to ask herself who would knock on her front door at this time, her right hand sought and found the cold steel of the one thing that always protected her. She was relatively new to the neighbourhood, so she had no idea what to expect. Carrying the Glock loosely and almost carelessly next to her upper leg, she headed to open the door, glancing at the security system's screen in the meantime.

Once she opened, she smiled and leant against the fake, dark oak door.

"Expecting bad company Frankie?"

His smile was seductive and flirting, flashing his white teeth, his eyes sparkling and smiling along. His hands were tucked in his pockets, seemingly casually and at ease, his head cocked to the side, eyes staring intensively and profound.

"I do at this hour."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I drove by and I noticed the lights were on."

"It's okay. You wanna come in?"

Morgan nodded and Abby stepped aside to let him in, the alcohol in her blood making him smell nice and the wave of profuse attraction crushed all her will. With a clicking sound to which Derek shortly responded, she put the safety pin back on.

"You want anything to drink?"

While travelling to the kitchen, she placed the gun on the kitchen island and walked to the other side. Morgan lingered in the entrance, soothingly, almost slouching and slowly following her into her house, his eyes absorbing every tiny, little, infinitesimal detail. The ambivalent sentence that lay on her tongue was reminiscent to her earlier conversation with Miles and she swallowed the words as she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

"I'm not staying that long. I like what you've done with the place."

"Suit yourself. And, you should thank Miles, he's been here all day, like a house wife, cleaning and organizing, getting rid of the boxes and walking the dog."

"I just stepped by to ask how the doctor's appointment went."

Mentally, and perhaps even for real, Abby smacked herself. If she didn't get a grip on herself quickly, Morgan would consider her a drunk, or at least drunk at the moment and that was an impression Abby knew she couldn't get rid of quickly. Not to mention the fact that Morgan was still hovering over her like a protective mother, watching out for her. The last thing she needed was him to think she couldn't handle it and Hotch knowing that. And how did he know-… Profilers. She should have found herself some better, or at least _other_, company.

"You came all the way down here to ask that? You could have picked up the phone."

The tone of her voice went down again, the clouds and fog in her head faded rapidly. Cold water always had a calming effect on her and her senses stopped spinning. Yet, the moment Morgan smiled at her, his eyes probably noticing everything that went on in her head and body, those senses were spinning again.

"I was in the neighbourhood."

"No, you weren't. You're feeling guilty. It wasn't your fault Morgan."

Despite his answer, she changed her mind and grabbed him a bottle of water as well, throwing it in his direction, trying hard not to notice how easily he caught it.

"I know."

Abby turned and gave him a deep long stare, looking right at him, into the depths of his dark eyes. He smiled again, briefly and weakly, his eyes trailing down in realization before sighing. Morgan stepped forward to close the distance between him and the kitchen island. As he leant down on the surface of the island, hands together and folded, he spoke again. He reflected Abby's stare and she was suddenly confronted with the most penetrating and intrusive look. Somehow, he managed to stare deep enough into her eyes that she shivers rolled down the back and she knew that it wasn't from the alcohol in her bloodstream. She remained looking into his eyes for a few more seconds and blinked, abruptly being able to shut him down and get him out of her head. She grabbed a pack of cigarettes from one of the drawers and lit it, ignoring Derek's constant glance whilst watching her movements.

"I get it. I'm the new kid. You're the fearless, alpha male. You're protective, not so much towards me but towards your entire team, especially Reid. You protect the 'youngsters'. Believe it or not, but you're Hotch' right hand. You protect the team, like he does. Losing your father at a young age kinda makes you think you're that responsible. You don't need to protect me, or however you wish to call it. I can take care of myself, I'm a big girl."

"I just came to see how you were doing. And I actually was in the neighbourhood."

She pondered several thoughts in her head, thought them over, ruminated whilst biting down on the inside of her cheek. Then, after deciding to let it go, considering the short profile she just gave him, she should know he would never admit it, she shrugged.

"Doc cleared me, I'm back in the game."

"Good to hear. Welcome back."

He smiled again and there it was. It only happened for a split second, but Abby ran it down in her mind frame by frame. His eyes never lost contact with hers, constantly finding the connection as she looked away several times in her actions. She had walked around the kitchen block as she spoke, but made sure not to turn into a threat or push him into a corner. The tingly sensation started in her fingertips, as per usual. Rapidly, it grew past her arm, made her heart beat faster and as it went up, set her head on fire. Uncontrolled lust. Unwanted attraction. She was weak and powerless, she couldn't fight it. So she gave in. She gave in and let the feelings overwhelm and overtake her.

Abby approached him, still careful and smooth, step by step. His eyes followed her movement, his body language changed. Derek's usual hard and adamant exterior shrunk, but Abby could read the hesitation of his face. His deep, dark, chocolate orbs held something back, lips pressed together and pulled inwards, it looked like he was hiding something behind those ingenious eyes. She just didn't know what, just like she didn't know what made her move towards the handsome man; the lust, the alcohol, the inability to resist. She would blame it on the level of alcohol in her blood, a lame excuse, but the best she had.

"This is a really bad idea Abby."

She was inches apart, his words told her to keep her distance, but his head lowered, his shoulders turned towards her, he licked his lips, he bend his face to allow her better access if she made her move.

"Then go."

Abby's voice was hoarse, merely a whisper. She felt as if she was approaching a nuclear reactor, hot air brushing against her skin, a warm hand caressing her.

She snapped, out of the blue, a wire broke in her head, a torn blood vein. One moment she was standing in front of him, the next her lips locked with Morgan's.

She inhaled deeply once he returned the kiss, pressing back against her lips, or at least not breaking away. So far, it had been modest, a simple kiss, nothing more. But the danger lurked around and within the fact that neither of them broke away. She lost control of herself. Either she lost the connection with her head or it went completely blank because she couldn't think anymore. Her heart was racing, a cocktail of lust, adrenaline and alcohol created by her treacherous body and pumped into her system. Her lips tingled with excitement, compared to being on fire, and finally touched the lips she had secretly dreamt of. Abby had forbid herself to think the thoughts, but sound asleep, it was out of her reach. And no matter how hard she pretended she didn't dream of it, long for it, the thought that reality was always better crossed her mind.

Seconds passed and she had to break away, yet remaining less than an inch apart, his fast breath was hot on her skin and soothingly. Carefully, her senses kicked back in and she wondered if Morgan was right; was this a bad idea? When she felt him close in again, his lips back on hers and his tongue brushing past her lips searching for her, entering without wanting an invitation, she pushed all the thoughts away. She never was the person to separate good from bad. Hastily, his hands cupped her face and Abby was pressed against the kitchen island. One hand went under his shirt, nearly going crazy when feeling the soft and tender skin underneath. She placed her other hand on the back of his neck, often moving up to the back of his head in case he changed his mind. She should know better, his kissing were hungry, devouring her lips, his heartbeat pulsed through his chest and she felt it beating against her own body.

Abruptly Abby realised how foolish it was and broke away. Derek moved down with his lips and kissed her jaw line before moving down to her neck. Despite her head screaming that it was stupid and her conscious complying, she wrapped an arm around his broad, muscular shoulders, pulling his closer, with the other hand she scratched her nails over his skin. His hands had moved to her waist, leaving a trail of heat behind, and were now moving up her sides, delicate, like the breeze in a warm summer's night. When his thumbs brushed against her bra, she lost it. She completely lost it.

And then everything went black. She couldn't think. She couldn't resist. She could only obey. They both, could only obey. Days before, they had collided. And now they crashed.

---

"_But seduction isn't making someone do what they don't want to do. Seduction is enticing someone into doing what they secretly want to do already."_

Waiter Rant

---

Next time on Criminal Minds: The Abby Scott series.

The aftermath of Abby's and Morgan's 'get together' seems almost superficial. _Too superficial._ The team just solved a case in Seattle where a rich and wealthy business man decided to take matters into his own hands, when they are called out to Boston. In the snowy capital of Massachusetts, a serial bomber targets public high schools. Not only the bomber heathens things up, tension between Abby and her partner Morgan rises, especially when one of the detectives on the case shares an obvious interest in the young agent and she starts getting strange mail. The team quickly realises it's a race against time when another bomb goes off shortly after arriving. In their attempt to stop the UnSub, one person may go too far in his attempt to save a group of high school students.

_JJ: "Sorry guys, looks like that day off will have to wait. B__oston just called, in the past month, three high school have been damaged by small bombs and four others found the bombs just in time. Last night, Frederick Douglass' High school was targeted where a reunion took place. So far, eleven people were injured, five dead."_

_Abby: "Wait, did you say Boston?"_

_JJ: "Yes."_

_Hotch: "Is that a problem, Scott?"_

_Abby: "No. It's just-... It's snowing in Boston."_

_Hotch: "So?"_

_Abby: "I hate snow. Really, really, hate it."_

_Prentiss: "Better dress warm then Frankie."_

_Garcia: "This was a big bomb."_

_Morgan: "Not really."_

_Abby: "Relaying on your expertise here Morgan."_

_JJ: "Do we know where the next bomb is yet?"_

_Prentiss: "How about anywhere?"_

_Rossi: "Who is this guy? And what does he want?"_

_Reid: "There isn't any pattern in the bombings, they're just.. Random."_

_Abby: "That's bad, right?"_

_Morgan: "Really bad."_

_Abby: "Hotch!"_


End file.
